


Fall

by mariechomp



Series: Stay: A Sherlock Series [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-16 20:09:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 69,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16501949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariechomp/pseuds/mariechomp
Summary: This girl had nothing to hide, and nothing to lose or live for. She was not interesting, yet she wasn't boring. So, why can't Sherlock get her out of her mind palace? Even if she is helping, he was busy.





	1. Two of a Mind

"You've got to be joking."

Lottie Blakely gave an exasperated sigh in reaction to coming home to her electricity being out. She had been out doing a bit of shopping when the explosion happened, apparently a gas leak, and came back as soon as she'd been told the news. Her body slumped in irritation and annoyance as she tried once more to flip on the light with no luck and headed over to her heating unit. Of course, it too was out because of the electricity. She sighed again and decided it was probably best to inform her landlady of the issue. Not to mention she was absolutely freezing down there in that basement and she would've really liked a cup of tea. She went through a few boxes, only having just moved in the day before, and pulled out an extra blanket to wrap around her small frame and headed upstairs to the main floor, where her landlady lived.

She peeked out from her door and saw the door to 221A closed and took a few steps towards it, knocking lightly to get Mrs. Hudson's attention. After a few minutes of waiting it was fairly obvious that she wasn't home and Lottie's shoulders slumped again. She really didn't want to sit down there by herself in that cold, dark basement. Just when she was about to give up and drag herself back downstairs she heard a somewhat familiar voice calling from above.

"Sherlock!" It sounded like that lovely man Mrs. Hudson volunteered to help her move in. She had insisted that he didn't need to do that, but he and Mrs. Hudson insisted that he did. He was really very kind and Lottie wondered if he would know where Mrs. Hudson was or when she would be home. He might even spare a cup of tea. She shrugged and started up the stairs, thinking of the conversation she'd had yesterday with Mrs. Hudson, who had warned her about the two men that lived above her. Once she got to the top, she knocked and poked her head inside the already half opened door.

"Goodbye, John. See you very soon."

A man Lottie did not recognize walked passed her, nodding his head at her, and out the door. She watched him go for a second before a rapid medley of violin notes pierced her eardrums. She squirmed a bit, but they stopped shortly after they started.

"Lottie," the man she recognized as Dr. John Watson, the man who helped her move in, came over and gestured her inside.

"Hi, Dr. Watson." She smiled, happy that he remembered her.

"Please, call me John. Sherlock, this is Lottie Blakely. She's just moved in downstairs in 221C."

The curly haired man looked up from his violin and gave a sarcastic, forced smile. She gave one back to him, but the way he looked at her was somewhat off-putting. It was as if he was reading her whole life story just by scanning her frame. John rolled his eyes, knowing exactly what his flat mate was doing.

"Was there something you needed or were you just dropping by to say hello?" John said.

"Actually, I was looking for Mrs. Hudson."

"She's gone out to the grocery. Is everything alright?"

"Well, actually, my bloody electricity's gone out and it's freezing down there, and if I'm honest, all I want is a cup of tea." She chuckled, realizing she was sounding a bit whiney, "Sorry, just a bit frustrating."

John laughed, "It's alright. Mrs. Hudson should be back any minute. In the meantime, you're more than welcome to sit up here. Would you like me to fetch you a cuppa?"  
"God, yes. If you don't mind."

He smiled and gestured for her to have a seat in the chair across from Sherlock while he stepped into the kitchen area to make a pot of tea. She sat and crossed her legs, wringing hands together and looking around at the boys' living area. Sherlock watched her with little interest seeing as she really didn't have much to hide nor did she seem like the person to hide anything even if she did. There was paint and charcoal on her hands, and probably forearms as well, so she was an artist for sure, she had a history of chronic anxiety or nervousness, having several nervous ticks and he could practically see her heart beating from across the room. John came back in with her tea, and she thanked him when he handed it to her, her eyes watching his lips as they moved, telling Sherlock she had some sort of selective hearing and was very much a visual type of person, probably the reason she picked up on painting and drawing. She watched the way he moved as he went back to the kitchen for tea for both himself and Sherlock, observing his body language and the way he interacted with others, probably having some sort of experience in the sociology department, watching peoples' body language and the way they interact with the people around them. She had a very genuine, kind smile and features and there was no sign of a bad home life, so why make the move all the way to London by herself?

"Not enough inspiration in Yorkshire?" Sherlock sipped on his tea.

Lottie furrowed her eyebrows, "I'm sorry?"

"The paint on your hands, you're an artist. And your accent, from Yorkshire, South Yorkshire I presume and it seems you've got some sort of anxiety or nervousness, you keep biting the inside of your cheek and rubbing your hands together so you didn't move here for the hustle and bustle of the big city and there's no indication of a bad home life so you're not trying to get away from your family, so probably your job, or rather your lack of one brought you here to little ole' Baker Street."

"Sherlock," John rubbed his face with his hands in embarrassment and Lottie sat with her jaw open in awe. This girl was going to think they were crazy if she didn't already.

"That was bloody brilliant."

Sherlock looked confused for only a split second and the only thing John could do was laugh. Sherlock glanced at his flat mate and back to Lottie, "You're only the second person to ever have that reaction."

"What do people normally say?"

"Piss off." John and Sherlock spoke and after a second, all three of them started to laugh. Lottie took another sip of her tea and set her cup on the table.

"Really though, that was fantastic. How do you do that?" she smiled.

"It's simple really, I observe. I observe what everyone else sees."

"See now, look what you've started." John joked and Lottie laughed.

"So it really is true, what you write in the blog? She asked, crossing her legs in her seat.

"Oh God, you read it too?" Sherlock stood and grabbed his violin from beside his chair, "It just shows how much of a drama queen John is."

"Oh, I'm the drama queen?" John replied, "Is that why you lied to your brother?"

Sherlock gave him a look and Lottie picked up her tea again, a hint of a smile playing at her lips as she took a sip of the look warm liquid. It made her wonder if their heat was out too.

"You've got nothing on." John continued, "Not a single case. That's why the wall took a pounding. Why did you tell him you were busy?"

Lottie glanced over at the wall John gestured too, furrowing her brow in astonishment at the bullet holes that accompanied the big yellow smiley face they surrounded. She couldn't help but smile, taking another sip of tea.

"Why shouldn't I?" Sherlock answered.

"Oh. Nice. Sibling rivalry. Now we're getting somewhere."

Lottie glanced between them; keeping herself out of this argument she obviously wasn't a part of until Sherlock's mobile started to ring. With the whoosh of his violin bow, he broke the intense eye contact he had with John and pulled his mobile from inside his jacket.

"Sherlock Holmes." He answered. His faced fell from annoyed, probably both from the phone call and from John badgering him, to completely interested in what the person on the other end had to say in a split second, "Of course. How can I refuse?" he hung up his phone and grabbed his coat, "Lestrade – I've been summoned. Coming?"

"If you want me to." John stood with him.

"Of course. I'd be lost without my blogger." He gave Lottie a wink and she rolled her eyes, sitting back in her chair, but Sherlock had other plans, "Miss Blakely, why don't you join us? Since you won't be doing anything but loitering up here in our flat anyway."

"Are you sure?" She stood cautiously.

"Of course I'm sure. I'm sure Dr. Watson is tired of having to babysit me by himself." He adjusted his coat and was out the door. John turned back to a smiling Lottie, nodding his head for her to go in front of him. Lottie ran down the stairs to her own flat, calling out that she just needed to grab her coat and she was back up just in time for Sherlock to hail them a cab. John waited for her to lock the door to her home and they jumped into the vehicle with Sherlock.

* * *

 

"You like the funny cases, don't you? The surprising ones."

"Obviously."

Lottie followed John and Sherlock and this new man, Lestrade, through the corridors of the police station, observing the sights around her. It seemed to be your average office, cubicles, filing cabinets, phones ringing off the hook, bulletin boards and white boards with important messages scribbled on them. She almost didn't feel like she was important enough to be here, so she kept close to Dr. Watson, knowing that as long as she was with him or Sherlock she'd be fine.

  
"You'll love this." Lestrade continued, "That explosion."

  
"Gas leak, yes?" Sherlock answered.

  
"No."

  
"No?"

  
"No. Made to look like one."

  
"What?" Lottie looked confused, "You mean the one across from our flat?"

  
"Yeah, hardly anything left of the place, except a strongbox. A very strong box, and inside it was this."

  
There was an envelope sitting on Lestrade's desk with nothing but Sherlock's name written on the front. Sherlock picked it up, "You haven't opened it?"

  
"It's addressed to you, isn't it? We've X-rayed it. It's not booby-trapped." Lestrade explained.

  
"How reassuring."

  
Lottie suppressed a chuckle and looked away when Lestrade gave her a look. Sherlock took the envelope over to a lamp on the other side of the office, examining the writing in detail, "Nice stationery. Bohemian. From the Czech Republic. No fingerprints?" Lestrade replied negatively to his question and Sherlock continued his analysis, "She used a fountain pen. Parker Duofold, Meridian nib."

  
"She?" Lottie asked.

  
"Obviously."

  
"Obviously?" she looked to John but he just sighed and shook his head.

  
"Welcome to my world."

  
Sherlock took to opening the envelope with careful ease, examining the cut of the paper before peeking inside; his face falling when he realized what was in it.  
"What is it?" Lottie asked, impatient by nature. Sherlock pulled out an iPhone with a pink case on it and John sucked in a breath.

  
"That…That's the phone. The pink phone." He said.

  
"What, from The Study In Pink?" Lestrade asked.

  
"Well, obviously, it's not the same phone, but it's supposed to look like-Study In Pink, you read his blog?" The realization hit Sherlock like a smack in the face and he turned to the officer in disbelief.

  
"Of course I read his blog. We all do. Do you really not know that the Earth goes round the sun?"

  
"Oh my god, I totally forgot about that part!" Lottie said and both John and Sherlock gave her a look and she muttered an apology.

  
"It isn't the same phone." Sherlock continued with the matter at hand, "This one's brand new. Someone's gone to a lot of trouble to make it look like the same phone. Which means your blog has a far wider readership." He unlocked the phone and tapped the phone app indicating that there was a new message waiting for him.

  
_You have one new message._

There were five Greenwich Time signal pips just after the automated voice and Lottie furrowed her eyebrows, "Was that it?"

  
"No, that's not it." the phone signaled another message, a text message, and Sherlock opened it, letting John and Lestrade view it with him.

  
"What in the hell are we supposed to make of that?" Lestrade said, "An estate agent's photo and the bloody Greenwich pips."

  
"It's a warning."

  
"A warning?"

 

"Some secret societies used to send dried melon seeds, orange pips, things like that – five pips. They're warning us it's going to happen again."

  
John was examining the photo in the phone and it suddenly hit him, "I've seen this place before. Lottie, isn't this your flat?"

  
"What?" she hadn't got a chance to look at the photo and Sherlock waited for her to have a look and her eyes went wide, "Yeah, that's it. Before I'd moved all my things in."

  
"Ah, yes, that's where I've seen it." Sherlock started walking towards the exit, taking the phone from Lottie on the way out and John and herself followed him.

  
"Hang on. What's going to happen again?" Lottie asked.

  
"Boom!"

* * *

 

Once they were back at the flat, Sherlock unlocked the front door and headed straight for the door to Lottie's flat. She wasn't afraid to admit she was a little freaked out about all this, but she knew better and said nothing.

  
"Do you have your keys with you?" Sherlock asked her.

  
"Yeah," she took them out of her coat pocket and he stepped aside so she could unlock it.

  
"The door's been opened recently." Sherlock muttered while Lottie struggled with the lock, still not quite used to its tick.

  
"You mean since we've been gone? I've got the only key." The door finally opened and Sherlock stepped passed her, down the stairs and into the living area of her flat. She followed all the boys down and poked her head inside, unsure of what she might find but to her surprise all of her belongings were exactly as she left them: half unpacked and scattered all over the place. It was still freezing cold and dark, the only light came through the window to their left. The only thing out of place was a pair of trainers sitting right in the middle of her living room floor.

  
"Shoes." John observed. Sherlock took a step toward them, but John held up his hand to stop him.

  
"He's a bomber, remember."

  
Sherlock sipped in a breath and continued toward the shoes, a little bit more careful about where he placed his feet, and his hands when he got down on his hands and knees to get a closer look. As soon as his hands touched the floor, his phone sounded, causing the entire room to just about leap out of their own skins. He pulled the pink phone from his pocket and a blocked number appeared on the screen. He took a moment to answer it, putting it on speaker when he did.

  
"Hello." He said, his voice soft. A ragged breathing came through the phone's speaker before a woman's voice did.

  
"H-Hello…sexy." The woman began sobbing.

  
"Who's this?"

  
"I've…sent you…a little puzzle. Just to say hi."

  
"Who's talking? Why are you crying?"

  
"I…I'm not crying. I'm typing. And this..." the woman sniffled, "Stupid bitch is reading it out."

  
Sherlock's eyes went wide in realization, "The curtain rises." His voice was low, almost too low for anyone to hear.

  
"What?" Lottie asked.

  
"Nothing."

  
"No, what did you mean?" John pried, something Lottie wasn't comfortable enough with them to do yet.

  
"I've been expecting this for some time."

  
"12 hours to solve…my puzzle, Sherlock…or I'm going to be…so…naughty." The woman hung up the phone and Lottie took to massaging her temples. There was a moment of silence before Sherlock picked up the shoes and headed back upstairs. Lottie watched him with furrowed eyebrows and John took a deep breath, placing a hand on her back.

  
"Come on, better go with him. Make sure he stays out of too much trouble."


	2. You and I

"So, who do you suppose it was?" John walked around the table to stand beside Sherlock as he examined some sort of evidence he found on the shoes under a microscope, "Woman on the phone – the crying woman."

"Oh, she doesn't matter, she's just a hostage. No lead there." Sherlock replied.

"For God's sake, I wasn't thinking about leads."

"You're not going to be much use to her." Sherlock glanced over to one of the computers where Lottie was standing, watching the screen run through all the data that was stored in its hard drive. So far, no matches.

"Are they trying to trace it – trace the call?" John continued.

"The bomber's too smart for that. Pass me my phone."

Lottie only just now realized that a phone had been going off and she and John exchanged an awkward glance, looking around the room for Sherlock's mobile.

"Where is it?"

"Jacket."

Annoyance and disbelief were clear on John's features and Lottie couldn't help but snicker as he walked over and all but yanked Sherlock's shoulder back to reach into his inside pocket, ignoring his demands to be careful. Once his flat mate's phone was in his hand he scrolled through his messages.

"Text from your brother."

"Delete it." Sherlock commanded.

"Delete it?"

"Missile plans are out of the country now. Nothing we can do about it."

"Well, Mycroft thinks there is. He's texted you eight times."

"Must be important." Lottie took a seat at the computer she'd been standing next to.

"Then why didn't he cancel his dental appointment?" Sherlock said.

"His what?"

"Mycroft never texts if he can talk. Look, Andrew West stole the missile plans, tried to sell them, got his head smashed in for his pains, end of story. The only mystery is this – why's my brother so determined to bore me when somebody else is being so delightfully interesting?"

"Ah, yes. I see it, John. The sibling rivalry." Lottie leaned back and crossed her arm with a malevolent smile. Sherlock glared at her but she merely scrunched her nose at him. He rolled his eyes.

"Try and remember there's a woman who might die." John commented.

"What for?" Sherlock's eyes lingered on Lottie's stubborn form for only a second before turning his attention to John, "There's hospitals full of people dying, Doctor. Why don't you go and cry by their bedside and see what good it does them?"

Lottie had the sudden urge to strangle him, but the sound of the computer's signal she was sitting next to distracted her and Sherlock called out in triumph. Lucky break for him. She huffed and sat back in her chair with her arms crossed over her chest like a stubborn five-year-old. The lab door opened and she turned her attention to a pretty brunette walking in with a lab coat. She had a bright smile and shy eyes. It wasn't hard to tell she had a preppy personality.

"Any luck?" she asked, walking right past Lottie to stand next to Sherlock.

"Oh, yes!" was the detective's reply. The girl wasn't in there for more than thirty seconds and the door opened once again. This time, a man, not much taller than John, came in with cautious steps. His dark hair was cropped short and his shirt was too tight for his body type.

"Jim, hi!" the new girl ushered him in and Lottie glanced over at Sherlock, wondering if he knew them or not. He obviously knew the girl, but he glanced between her and this new bloke and gave a knowing smirk before returning to his work. Lottie furrowed her eyebrows but kept her mouth shut just as he had done. She stood to join John, her nosey side getting the best of her. She wanted to hear what Sherlock had to say about this new guy, Jim.

"Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes. And, er…" she looked between John and Lottie, and Lottie could tell that she was obviously drawing a blank on John's name, if she had ever even met him before, and she knew she'd never met her, "Sorry."

John sighed. Maybe they had met, "John Watson. Hi."

"Lottie. Lottie Blakely."

"How do you do?" the girl smiled at her and Jim gave a quick, non-interested 'hi', turning all of his attention to Sherlock, "So, you're Sherlock Holmes. Molly's told me all about you. You on one of your cases?"

"Jim works in IT, upstairs." Molly explained, "That's how we met. Office romance."

Lottie closed her eyes and bit her tongue. Both Jim and Molly had been sent into a fit of giggles and Lottie watched Molly with a certain interest. There was something there that just wasn't quite right, but Sherlock took one look at Jim and pegged him as gay and Lottie almost had to physically hold her mouth closed to keep from laughing.

"Sorry, what?" Molly said.

"Nothing, um, hey."

"Hey." Jim was trying his hardest to seem cool towards the world's most infamous detective, but cool just didn't seem to be working for him. He went to lean on the counter but his arm knocked over a spare bowl and Sherlock watched him with disinterest as he picked it up and set it back in its place, calling out apologies the whole time. Lottie looked away, covering her face with second-hand embarrassment and Molly seemed to be feeling the same way. There was no way she was really into this guy, surely not.

"Well, I'd better be off. I'll see you at the Fox. About sixish?" Jim put a hand on Molly's back and she nodded her acknowledgement, "Bye. It was nice to meet you."

Sherlock completely ignored him and Lottie glanced around nervously before nudging John to do something.

"You too." he cleared his throat and Jim left on an extremely awkward note. Once he was gone and the door was closed again, Molly stood up to Sherlock, something Lottie was a little surprised about, even though she'd just met the girl she had the feeling she wasn't one to actually do something like that.

"What do you mean, gay? We're together." She said.

"And domestic bliss must suit you, Molly. You've put on three pounds since I last saw you." Sherlock replied.

"Two-and-a-half."

"No, three."

"Sherlock!" Lottie said in a harsh whisper, but he ignored her.

"He's not gay!" Molly protested, "Why do you have to spoil…? He's not!"

"With that level of personal grooming?" Sherlock pointed out, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Because he puts a bit of product in his hair? I put product in my hair." John argued.

"You wash your hair, there's a difference. No, no – tinted eyelashes, clear signs of taurine cream around the frown lines. Those tired, clubber's eyes. Then there's his underwear."

"His underwear?" both girls questioned in unison.

"Visible above the waistline. Very visible. Very particular brand. Plus the extremely suggestive act that he just left his number under this dish." He lifted the bowl Jim knocked to the ground not five minutes ago and picked up a piece of scratch paper with a number written on it. Molly's eyes went wide, "I'd say you'd better break it off now and save yourself the pain."

She stared at him in disbelief for only a moment before running out of the lab. Lottie watched Sherlock's face fall in confusion and she shook her head.

"Charming, well done." John complimented.

"Just saving her time. Isn't that kinder?"

Lottie snickered and Sherlock's attention was suddenly on her, questioning her reaction. He was completely serious and she couldn't believe it.

"You really think-?" she glanced between the boys and John seemed to be on the same page as she was, "Kinder? No, Sherlock, love, that was not kind."

He took a deep breath and sat back in his chair, obviously unaffected by this knowledge. Lottie smiled in disbelief, heading towards the door.

"Where are you going?" John called.

"Going to make sure Sherlock didn't turn Molly into a blubbering mess."

Once she was outside she started her search for Molly but the more corridors she wandered into, the more lost she felt. With no such luck finding the poor girl she gave up and decided to head back to the flat, knowing there was no way she would find her way back to John and Sherlock even if they were still there. It was going to be ten times easier to find an exit, and she did find one in decent time and flagged down a cab to take her back to Baker street. She wanted to speak to Mrs. Hudson about her electricity being out seeing as she hadn't got a chance to earlier and if she was honest, she was still a bit freaked out by the trainers that were found in her flat.

It took less than fifteen minutes for the cab to pull up in front of her flat and she paid the cabbie before unlocking the outside door and walking straight to Mrs. Hudson's door. She knocked a few times and she only had to wait a minute or two for her landlady to answer with a smile.

"Lottie! Oh, come in, come in!"

Lottie thanked her and stepped inside, letting Mrs. Hudson close the door behind her.

"Would you like some tea, deary?"

"Yes, please." She took a seat in the living area and waited for Mrs. Hudson to put the tea on, glancing around the room at the several pictures that were framed and scattered about the flat.

"What can I do for you, Miss Lottie?" Mrs. Hudson came back, wrapping her cardigan closer to her frame.

"I just wanted to let you know that my electricity's out and I was wondering if you knew anybody who could fix it."

"Oh, oh dear! I know exactly who to call!" she scurried away and left Lottie to chuckle to herself. Mrs. Hudson really was a sweet lady and she was lucky to have such a kind landlady. Just as she was thinking about her, Mrs. Hudson came back in, tray in hand with two cups of tea ready.

"I've got someone coming in a few days to fix that for you. You're welcome to stay here if you like." She sat down across from her and handed over a cup of tea.

"Oh, thank you, but I think I'll tough it out." She sipped her tea and Mrs. Hudson smiled at her.

"I hear you've spent most of your day with John and Sherlock today." she said.

"You could say that."

"Those two are something,"

"You could say that again."

Mrs. Hudson smiled, "You enjoyed it, didn't you."

Lottie smiled, "I did, actually." Her mind ran away with thoughts of the day and she absentmindedly sipped on her tea. Mrs. Hudson knew that look, but she said nothing, instead started small talk while they sat and sipped tea, both of them enjoying a bit of girlish gossip for once. After an hour or two, Lottie was ready to head down to her icebox of a flat and try and get her things in order. She thanked Mrs. Hudson and bid her a farewell, slipping just outside the door only to run into John.

"John! Hi," she smiled and he waved back.

"Where you headed?" he asked.

"Back down to my flat and bury myself in blankets."

"Alright, you're coming with me." He started for the door and she stared after him.

"What're you talking about? Coming where?"

"Come on."

She let out a sigh and threw her coat on that was laid over her arm and followed John out into the streets of London.

* * *

"John, why am I here?" Lottie whispered from the seat next to him. He had dragged her down into central London and into an office. She looked around at the pristine shape that the owner kept it in. Neatly hung pieces of artwork, but no family photos, fake plants and clean, cliché office furnishings.

"Because for one, Sherlock sent me on this job because he didn't think it was interesting enough and his brother wouldn't leave him alone."

"Wait, this is his brother's office?" she looked at him wide-eyed.

"Yes, Mycroft Holmes' office is where we are."

"Oh my god," she slumped in her chair, massaging her temples.

"And second of all, I didn't want to do this alone, and I've never seen Sherlock take to a person so fast since I met him."

Lottie stopped, furrowing her eyebrows and turning to look at John. He wasn't looking at her, and he didn't really seem to think what he said was as dynamic as he made it seem to her. She was going to ask if he was serious, but just as she was about to open her mouth Mycroft walked in and John stood out of respect. Lottie was a little dumbfounded and was unsure if she should stand as well, but Mycroft gestured for John to sit so she remained seated and John took his seat again as well.

"John, how nice! I was hoping it wouldn't be long. How can I help you?" Mycroft said.

"Thank you. Um, I was wanting to, um, your brother sent me to collect more facts about the stolen plans – the missile plans."

"Missile plans?" Lottie whispered, but she almost regretted speaking as soon as Mycroft looked at her with judging eyes.

"And who might you be?" he said.

"This is Lottie Blakely. She lives in the flat below us. She's been…helping us with some of our cases." John jumped in and Lottie gave a weak smile and an even weaker wave.

"Hello," she breathed. He was much more intimidating than his brother.

"Yes, hello. My brother sent you, did he? Both of you?"

"Yes." John smiled nervously, "He's investigating now. He's, er…investigating away. Um, I just wondered what else you could tell me about the dead man."

Mycroft massaged his jaw with a pained expression before answering, "Uh, 27, Clerk at Vauxhall Cross MI6. He was involved in the Bruce – Parrington Program in a minor capacity. Security checks A-OK. No known terrorist affiliations or sympathies. Last seen by his fiancée 10:30 yesterday evening."

"He was found at Battersea, yes. So he got on the train?"

"No."

"What?"

"He had an Oyster card." He rubbed his jaw again and Lottie felt sorry for him. He must've had a root canal or his wisdom teeth cut out, "But it hadn't been used."

"He must've bought a ticket." Lottie commented, "Right?"

Mycroft studied her a moment before answering and she suddenly felt self-cautious, "There was no ticket on the body."

"Then –"

"Then how did he end up with a bashed-in brain on the tracks at Battersea? That is the question – the one I was rather hoping Sherlock would provide an answer to. How's he getting on?"

"He's fine. And it is going…very well. He's um…He's completely focused on it." John gave him a smile, but Mycroft did not seem convinced,

"Well, we, uh, better be going." John stood and motioned with his head for Lottie to follow him out of the office and she hurried to stand with him, doing as he said with no question. She thanked Mycroft and closed the door behind them.

"What was that all about?" she asked once they were safely outside on the London streets. John hailed them a cab and the two of them stepped inside before he answered.

"221 Baker Street." He told the cabbie, turning to Lottie as he spoke, "That was Sherlock's brother, Mycroft Holmes."

"Yes, we established that, but what missile plans were you talking about?"

"I don't know. He wants Sherlock to solve this case that I really don't know much about other than the fact that, supposedly, it's of national importance. Sherlock doesn't think it's interesting enough so he sent me to make Mycroft happy."

"And then you dragged me into it as well?"

"Look, sometimes it's exhausting trying to keep up with Sherlock, and I just really wanted someone sane to be here, and you're the only person Sherlock has even remotely showed any tolerance to, next to Molly."

She stared at him for a moment, "Does he really not get on with people?"

"Well, it's not that he doesn't get on with them, but people just seem to be a bit put off by his…observances."

"But I wasn't. And neither were you I take it?"

He chuckled, "No, actually. I pretty much had the same reaction you did for the most part."

Lottie smiled and the cab stopped just outside their flats. John paid the cabbie and stepped out of the car, helping Lottie out as well before they unlocked the door and leading her up the stairs. They could hear Mrs. Hudson putsying around in the kitchen and the two of them came around the corner to find Sherlock sat at the table behind a microscope.

"Poison!" he muttered.

"What are you going on about?" Mrs. Hudson turned back to see what he was up to, but when he slammed his hands on the table she scurried out of the room and back to her flat. Lottie rolled her eyes.

"I'm beginning to wonder why Mrs. Hudson puts up with you." Lottie said as she turned the corner with John. Sherlock looked at her out of the corner of his eye but said nothing.

"Clostridium botulinum." He said, "It's one of the deadliest poisons on the planet."

Lottie and John exchanged looks and Sherlock gave an exasperated sigh, "Carl Powers."

It was so obvious to him and Lottie wondered what it was like inside his head for only a second before John interrupted her thoughts, "Are you saying he was murdered?"

"Remember the shoelaces? The boy suffered from eczema. It would be the easiest thing in the world to introduce the poison into his medication. Two hours later he comes up to London, the poison takes effect, paralyses the muscles and he drowns."

Lottie sat down in the seat that Sherlock had just given up to explain his theory and she had a look at the things that he was examining to come to this conclusion. Books, his laptop, the microscope with several samples of who knows what, Lottie sure didn't know. She had no idea how he came to the conclusion he did, but it made sense to her. She sat back to observe and listen, hopefully not getting in his way.

"How come the autopsy didn't pick that up?" John asked.

"It's virtually undetectable. Nobody would have been looking for it." Sherlock explained. He scooted his computer away from Lottie so he could type. She was about to apologize for being in the way, but he was so far into this case she was sure he wouldn't even notice if she dropped dead at that very moment so she stayed silent while he continued to speak, "There's still tiny traces of it left inside the trainers from where he put the cream on his feet. That's why they had to go."

"So, how do we let the bomber know?"

"Get his attention, stop the clock."

"The killer kept the shoes all these years?" Lottie mused, glancing at the computer screen where Sherlock had just typed the answer to 'the riddle' on his website.

"Yes." Sherlock turned to John, "Meaning…"

"He's our bomber."

As soon as the words left John's lips, the pink phone began to ring. Sherlock answered it and the same crying voice came over the speaker.

"Well done, you. Come and get me."

"Where are you? Tell us where you are." Sherlock was very stern with his words and John immediately called the police so they could send the bomb squad to rescue the poor woman. Lottie took a deep breath as the hostage began to explain her whereabouts to Sherlock. Lottie massaged her temples and slumped in her chair. What had she gotten herself into?


	3. Learning to Speak

Lottie woke the next morning completely and utterly exhausted. And absolutely freezing. Whoever Mrs. Hudson called to fix her electricity was taking their sweet time in coming to her rescue and she didn't seem to have enough blankets to keep warm. There was little else she hated more than being cold. She stretched and wrapped one of the covers around her frame, grabbing a cup from one of the boxes labeled "kitchen stuffs" and made her way upstairs to John and Sherlock's flat for a cup of tea.

The boys' flat door was open and she peered inside. Surely they were up by now. Her eyes landed on John sitting at his desk, having pushed a bunch of papers out of the way so he could type on his laptop. Lottie knocked and he looked up, smiling when he saw who it was.

"Morning." Lottie said, her voice scratchy from lack of use. John gave her a look.

"Morning? It's the middle of the afternoon." he said. She furrowed her eyebrows and searched for a clock. John was right, it was nearly one in the afternoon. She's almost slept through the whole day.

"Are you just now getting out of bed?" he asked her and she gave a weak, ashamed smile. He shook his head, standing and grabbing his coat. She held up her cup.

"Do you mind?" she said.

"No, help yourself." He started for the door.

"Where're you going?"

"To meet Sherlock. Our bomber's at it again. Mrs. Hudson is in her flat and you're welcome to stay up here if it's too cold downstairs."

She smiled, "Thank you, John."

He nodded and she could hear his footsteps and the door open and close, signaling that she was alone, save for Mrs. Hudson in her own flat. Lottie felt worry in the pit of her stomach for those boys, but she merely sighed and shuffled into the kitchen to make her tea. She leaned her hips on the counter, waiting for the water to boil, thinking about her new acquaintances. They hadn't had that defining moment of friendship yet, and she knew. They were very kind, opening up their home to her for the few hours that they had. Well, at least John Watson was. She hadn't quite figured his flat mate out yet, but she got the feeling that not many did, even those who were close to him, even if anyone really was close to him. The tea kettle whistled, pulling her out of her thoughts and she jumped a bit, not realizing how much time had passed. She made her tea and went back downstairs to her own flat. She stood in her living room, warming her hands with her tea and staring at the mess of things she had yet to unpack. She sighed and took a long sip of her drink before getting started. After two or three boxes she found her iPod speaker and she took time to set it up and turn on some music from her old iPod she always had on hand.

She spent the next several hours unpacking box after box after box. Clothes, photo frames, kitchenware, movies, all of it. If she was honest, she didn't have a whole lot to really go through. Not having lived on her own all that long, even still she didn't completely finish and it was way past nightfall. But she'd listened to the same songs over two or three times already and she was sick of putting things away. Even as much as she loved to clean and organize, she'd just about had enough. She glanced at her phone to check the time and it was nearly ten o'clock and she was just as exhausted when she woke up, maybe even more if that was possible. She'd heard Sherlock and John come in a while ago and she considered going up to see if they were alright in light of the case they were working on but she decided against it. Considering they were working with a bomber and they were still alive and well enough to walk up to their flat, they were probably. Stressed and tired, but fine. Maybe she would check on them tomorrow. The thought of going to bed early was beginning to sound better and better and she remembered she'd found some of her books a couple of hours ago. She stood and grabbed the first one she saw from the shelf and locked her door, turning off all of the lights on the way back to her room. But once she was settled in between the sheets and all of her blankets, she didn't even get past the first page.

* * *

The next morning she woke bright and early, well, as early as anyone else. She sat up and stretched before stepping out of bed, wrapped up tight in one of her blankets, and into the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face. Once she was done she flipped her long, auburn hair over and secured it in a high ponytail, fluffing it up a bit with her fingers as she walked back to her room to get dressed. After pulling on a pair of skinny jeans and a flowy shirt she grabbed another clean cup and started upstairs to John and Sherlock's flat. This was starting to become routine as she was starting to wonder whether or not this this guy was ever gonna come fix anything at all.

Upstairs John was sat in his chair with a newspaper in hand and Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. John smiled at her when he heard her tap on the door.

"Morning." She greeted.

"You're up early." He said.

"Was in bed early last night. Finally got my things all unpacked and sorted. Well, for the most part. Do you mind?" she held up her cup again with an apologetic look about her. He chuckled.

"Help yourself."

She smiled and started for the kitchen, almost running into Sherlock on the way. She apologized and continued towards the tea kettle. He watched her with furrowed eyebrows.

"Do you live here too, now?" he said.

"Sherlock, she has no electricity." John scolded.

"Hasn't Mrs. Hudson called someone?"

"She has," Lottie scooted past him with her cup, "They haven't showed up yet, unfortunately."

"Odd. She usually has better people than that."

She shrugged and sat in Sherlock's chair, sipping her tea. Sherlock bit his tongue and turned to John, "I'm going downstairs for breakfast. Coming?"

"Love to. Lottie, join us?" John stood.

"Sure. That is, if Sherlock doesn't mind."

"Oh, not at all."

The sarcasm in his voice was as plain as day, but she smirked and followed in behind John anyway. When they made it downstairs they sat down in a corner table and a waitress immediately took John and Lottie's orders. Sherlock didn't seem to be hungry. Their food came in less than ten minutes with the inn being so slow and the two of them dug in.

"Feeling better, John?" Sherlock said.

"You look like you haven't eaten in weeks." Lottie commented.

"To be honest, we've hardly stopped for breath since this thing started." John smiled at her and she returned the favor before taking another bite of her own meal while he turned back to Sherlock, "Has it occurred to you-?"

"Probably." He interrupted. Lottie almost spit out her drink, humor apparent in her eyes, but she coughed and returned to her meal when John glared at her.

"No," he continued, "Has it occurred to you that the bomber's playing a game with you? The envelope, breaking into Lottie's flat, the dead kid's shoes – it's all meant for you."

"Yes, I know." Sherlock wore a half smile with his reply and it suddenly hit Lottie that he enjoyed this, he thought it was fun. She bit her tongue, knowing by now not to question things like that around these two. But it was definitely something to think about later.

"Is it him, then? Moriarty?"

"Perhaps."

"Wait, who's Moriarty?" Lottie questioned. She'd never heard of him. John opened his mouth to answer her but Sherlock's pink phone that was sitting on the table alerted them of an incoming message. Sherlock unlocked it and turned it so that Lottie and John could see the photo of a lady on the screen, followed by three pips.

"That could be anybody." Sherlock observed.

"But she looks really familiar." Lottie stared at the face, trying to recall where she'd seen her before, but nothing was coming to mind.

"Well, it could be anybody, yeah." John stood, "Lucky for you, I've been more than a little unemployed."

"How d'you mean?" Sherlock asked.

"Lucky for you, Mrs. Hudson and I watch far too much telly." He walked up the counter and picked up the remote, turning the TV to one of the local channels and there she was, the lady from the photo.

"Oh! Connie Prince! I know who that is. She's got a show on the telly. She does makeovers." Lottie explained to a confused looking Sherlock, but about the time the words came out of her mouth, the pink phone began ringing. He picked it up almost immediately and Lottie's heart dropped into her stomach as he answered.

"Hello?"

He was quiet after that, listening to whoever was on the other end of the line and John came back to sit next to Lottie, who was watching Sherlock with worried eyes.

"Why are you doing this?" he suddenly said, but after a few more seconds he gave John and Lottie a nervous glance and set the phone back down on the table, turning his attention to the TV where they were still talking about Connie Prince's death.

"Come on, we've got 12 hours." Sherlock stood and started for the door and John followed quickly behind but Lottie stayed where she was, calling out to them, asking where they were going but neither of them replied and she let out a frustrated sigh, finding herself alone in the inn with an unpaid bill. She rolled her eyes and left money for her and John's food and headed back to the flat next door. What she really needed to do was go grocery shopping but she was just not up for that today. As soon as the door to 221 shut behind her Mrs. Hudson's voice was heard all through the building.

"John? Sherlock?"

"No, Mrs. Hudson. It's me."

"Lottie! Will you come up here and help me with this?"

Lottie smiled and shook her head, announcing that she was coming and headed upstairs to John and Sherlock's flat, helping their landlady with some of the cleaning and other odds and ends of things. She actually enjoyed hanging out with Mrs. Hudson if she was honest. She was a very kind-hearted lady and she liked the way her voice sounded. It was comforting.

A few hours past and later, Sherlock came bounding up the stairs with Lestrade in tow behind him. Sherlock was carrying a hand full of notes, photos and papers, along with a ball of yarn. He immediately began pinning these things onto the wall, connecting everything with the yarn to different pieces of information. He stepped back and folded his hands together, looking at the big picture when Lottie joined them.

"Connection, connection, connection. There must be a connection." He muttered.

"Where's John?" Lottie whispered to Lestrade.

"Sherlock sent him to get data."

"Carl Powers, killed 20 years ago. The bomber knew him, admitted that he knew him. The bomber's iPhone was in the stationery from the Czech Republic. The first hostage from Cornwall, the second from London, the third from Yorkshire, judging by her accent. What's he doing? Working his way around the world, showing off?"

Lottie's eyes darted across the wall, following Sherlock's words and hands as they led her through what he'd discovered. She blinked a few times and the pink phone began to ring again. Sherlock pulled it out and put it on speaker.

" _You're enjoying this, aren't you?"_ it sounded like an old lady this time, _"Joining the…dots. Three hours. Boom…boom."_

The line went dead and Lottie covered her mouth, "She sounded so scared."

Sherlock looked at her and slid the phone back into his pocket, folding his hands together and assessing the information he'd gathered on his wall again. A few minutes later Sherlock stepped away and Lottie watched him pull out his cell phone. Mrs. Hudson joined them, curious to know what all the fuss was about. She stood next to Lottie, looking at the wall Sherlock had put up.

"It's a real shame. I liked her." She said, "Did you watch her show, Lottie?"

"Hmm?" she turned away from Sherlock and back to Mrs. Hudson, "Once or twice, yes."

"Oh, real shame. She taught you how to do your colours."

"Colours?" Lestrade asked.

"You know, what goes best with what. I should never wear cerise apparently. Drains me."

"Didn't you know, Lestrade?" Lottie teased but Mrs. Hudson turned to her.

"You probably shouldn't either, deary. You're kind of pale. Probably that ginger hair."

"Yeah, gingy." Lestrade played back. Lottie gave him a look and Sherlock was suddenly beside her.

"Who's that?" she asked him.

"Home office."

"Home office?" Lestrade said.

"Well, Home Secretary, actually. Owes me a favor."

"She was a pretty girl, but she messed about with herself too much. They all do these days. People can hardly move their faces." Mrs. Hudson laughed, "It's silly, isn't it?"

Sherlock gave an aggravated sigh and she turned to him, "Did you ever see the show?"

"Not until now." He reached behind them to grab his laptop. Holding the computer in one hand, he opened an online video and they all leaned in to watch it. Connie and a man of similar resemblance were on the screen.

"That's the brother. No love lost there, if you can believe the papers." Mrs. Hudson explained.

"So I gather." Sherlock said, "I've just been having a very fruitful chat with people who love this show. The fan site's indispensable for gossip."

"That's not surprising." Lottie commented. Sherlock's phone sounded and he handed her his laptop so he could answer it.

"John." He said. Lottie and Lestrade watched him, waiting to hear news from John while Mrs. Hudson excused herself to go back down to her flat.

"I'll remember." Sherlock passed his computer from Lottie to Lestrade and ushered her out the door. She was led outside and once he finished his conversation with John, he hailed a cab for the two of them and they stepped inside once one pulled up to the curb. Sherlock gave the cabbie instructions and sat back in his seat, settling in for the drive. Lottie found this to be the opportune moment to speak.

"Sherlock, where're we going?" she said.

"John thinks he's on to something. At Connie's house with the brother."

"Uh-huh, and you want me to come with you?"

"I tend to talk to myself."

"Oh, so you need someone here so you don't look mental walking around, is that it? Why didn't you just bring Lestrade?"

"His thoughts annoy me."

"His thoughts annoy you?" she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Yes." He replied, pulling out his Blackberry to type something out, "And John seems to like having you around."

"But let me guess, my thoughts annoy you, too?"

"Actually, no." he looked up at her and a hint of a crooked smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. Lottie's eyebrows furrowed and he mimicked her expression, "You don't believe me."

"No, of course not. I feel like I would be at the top of your list of people whose thoughts annoy you."

"Ah, there it is. That sliver of self-doubt."

"What're you talking about, Sherlock?"

"Part of the reason you have anxiety, whether you know it or not, is because you have self-doubt and high stress levels. You're a 'people pleaser'. You feel that any problem that arouses is your fault, which is one of the causes of your past panic attacks that you seem to fight off and/or hide by all of your nervous ticks that we discussed before. Meeting me was no different, you want to help me but you're afraid you'll get in the way or you don't have the proper skills or knowledge or for whatever reason, but rest assured, Miss Blakely, you're doing just fine."

The cab stopped and he got out of the car, leaving Lottie to try and get herself back together. As brilliant as it was, she was beginning to understand John's struggle. She waited a few minutes and Sherlock came back with some equipment that she assumed was what John requested and they started for Connie Prince's house.

"That is bloody brilliant, you know." Lottie said after a moment of silence.

"What?" Sherlock looked at her.

"What you do. It's brilliant."

"You're not hard to deduce. You're one of the most open books I've ever seen." He handed her some equipment.

"Then I'm surprised you don't find me boring."

"Me too. However, you're also slightly unpredictable. At least for the time being."

"I am? That's a new one."

"I didn't expect you to still be in the cab when I came back." He picked up his own equipment, "Which, now that I think about it, could mean that you're stubborn, not unpredictable."

"Sherlock? Wrong?" she faked a surprised face.

"There's always something. Now, follow my lead."

They stepped out of the cab once it stopped and made their way to the door, carrying all of their photography equipment. Sherlock knocked on the door and rang the doorbell a few times until the houseboy answered it.

"Hi, we're with Mr. Watson." Sherlock was actually very pleasant and Lottie would be lying if she said she wasn't surprised. This was a side of him she'd never seen, even if he was acting or pretending or whatever. She shrugged it off and followed the two boys into the house. She could hear John in the other room along with another male voice, probably the brother, Kenny Prince.

"Ah, Mr. Prince, isn't it?" Sherlock said, reaching out to shake his hand.

They exchanged pleasantries until there was an awkward aura hovering in the room and John cleared his throat, pulling the two apart so Mr. Prince could fix his hair in a nearby mirror and Sherlock, Lottie, and John could congregate by the couch.

"You were right, the bacteria got into her another way." John said.

Lottie watched Sherlock's face for a reaction but when he smirked in that cocky fashion that was beginning to drive her up the wall, she knew that John was completely wrong and Sherlock was just gonna let it go on, "Oh, yes?"

"Yes." He sounded so proud of himself and it made Lottie want to punch Sherlock in the face.

"Right, are we all set?" Mr. Prince brought them out of their huddle and John nodded his head. Sherlock placed Lottie right where he needed her and then he just went to town taking as many photos as he possibly could, ignoring Mr. Prince's complaints about them being too close to his face. Lottie's first instinct was to step back but in doing so she almost stepped onto a small cat. She immediately looked down and apologized to it.

"Who's this?" She asked.

"Sekhmet." The brother replied, "Named after the Egyptian goddess."

"Oh, how lovely." She smiled turning to Sherlock. She could see the wheels in his head moving and he turned to Mr. Prince.

"Was she Connie's?" he asked, very sincere-like.

"Yes, a little present from yours truly." He picked the cat up and Lottie reached out to pet it. The animal welcomed the love and John cleared his throat again, joining in with Lottie.

"Sherlock, light reading?" John said.

"Oh, err…Lottie?"

"Hmm?" She looked up at him and he glanced at the equipment in her hand. She seemed to get the idea and she pressed a button so that the flash machine blinded Mr. Prince long enough for John to examine the cat's claws. Mr. Prince continued to complain when Lottie didn't stop pressing the flash and she apologized over and over again.

"Sorry, she's new to the job." Sherlock covered for her.

"Actually, I think we've got what we came for. Excuse us." John walked out of the room and Lottie apologized one more time before following him, but when she didn't hear any other footsteps behind her she turned to see Sherlock still standing there looking around.

"Sherlock." She said and he turned around, "We've got deadlines."

They both nodded and all but ran out the door to join John who was waiting for them right outside the door. Once they were caught up they started walking away from the house and down the street, John laughing in victory, obviously proud of himself and Lottie couldn't stand it anymore. She knew Sherlock didn't agree with John but he still hadn't said anything.

"Okay, Sherlock, what's wrong?"

"He thinks it's the cat. It wasn't the cat."

"What? Yes. Yeah, it is." John argued, "It must be. It's how he got the tetanus into her system. Its paws stink of disinfectant."

"Lovely idea."

"No, he coated it on the claws of her cat. It's a new pet, bound to be a bit jumpy around her. A scratch is almost inevitable. She wouldn't – "

"I thought of it the minute I saw the scratches on her arm, but it's too random and too clever for the brother."

"He murdered his sister for her money."

"Did he?"

"Didn't he?" Lottie looked up at Sherlock and he looked down at her.

"Nope. It was revenge."

"Rev-?" Lottie and Sherlock turned at John's words, "Who wanted revenge?"

"Raoul, the houseboy. Kenny Prince was the butt of his sister's jokes week in, week out. Virtual bullying campaign. Finally, he had enough, fell out with her badly. It's all on the website. She threatened to disinherit Kenny, Raoul had grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle – "

"Wait a second." John stopped them, "What about the disinfectant, then, on the cat's claws?"

"Raoul keeps a very clean house. You came through the kitchen door saw the state of that floor – scrubbed within an inch of its life. You smell of disinfectant, and so does Lottie and she was only in there for five minutes, I'm sure I do too. Raoul's internet records do, though. I hope we can get a cab from here."

He started for the main road and Lottie stood watching him, hugging her arms in the cold. She looked at John, snickering at his facial expression, obviously annoyed. He looked over at her and she looked away.

"Do you see now? Why I started dragging you along?" he said and she rolled her eyes with a smile.

"Come on." She took his arm and they jogged to catch up to Sherlock before he left them.

_**1 hour left.** _

* * *

"Raoul de Santos is your killer. Kenny Prince's houseboy." Sherlock announced, leading John and Lottie into the police office. He approached Lestrade on the other side of the room, "Second autopsy shows it wasn't tetanus that poisoned Connie Prince, it was botulinum toxin. We've been here before. Carl Powers. Tut-tut. Our bomber's repeated himself."

"So how'd he do it?" Lestrade asked.

"Botox injection.

"Botox?"

"Botox is a diluted form of botulinum. Among other thing, Raoul de Santos was employed to give Connie her regular facial injections. My contact at the Home Office gave me the complete records of Raoul's internet purchases. He's been bulk ordering Botox for months. Bided his time, then upped the strength to a fatal dose."

"Are you sure about this?"

"I'm sure."

"All right, my office."

They were all about to follow him, but John stopped them, letting Lestrade continue into his office, "Sherlock, how long?"

"What?" he was a little taken aback by John's question.

"How long have you known?"

"Well, this one was quite simple, actually. And like I said, the bomber repeated himself. That was a mistake."

"No, but, Sherlock, the hostage, the old woman, she's been there all this time!" his voice rose with his aggravation and Lottie could understand why, having just realized what he was getting at. She hadn't even thought about the old woman, having thought Sherlock had already dealt with that issue. She stepped closer to them when Sherlock lowered his voice to John.

"I knew I could save her. I also knew that the bomber had given us 12 hours. I solved the case quickly, that gave me time to get on with other things.

"So you let a poor, scared, little old woman sit in blinding terror for almost 12 hours?" Now Lottie was starting to get upset and Sherlock turned to her.

"Yes, but don't you see?" he whispered in her ear, "We're one up on him."

He continued into Lestrade's office and John made a face. Lottie bit her lip, trying to keep her irritation from bursting out from her mouth. What if it had been Mrs. Hudson? There's no way he'd let her sit around with bombs strapped to her chest. She was learned more and more about this man with every moment she spent with him and she had to admit, he was a tough one to understand, yet so simple at the same time. John put a hand on her back and led her into the office with Lestrade and Sherlock, bringing her out of her thoughts. She could see the aggravation on his face as well, and she could tell he was trying his hardest to keep his mouth shut. He closed the door behind them and she took a seat next to Sherlock who was already sat at a computer posting the answer to the bomber's case onto his website. As soon as he hit the enter button the pink phone started ringing again. He picked it up with little hesitation and answered it.

"Hello?" he said. He paused a moment before continuing, "Tell us where you are. Address."

Lottie's anger with Sherlock was slowly fading into worry as they all sat waiting to hear where the old lady was so they could rescue her. But her heart dropped in her stomach when she watched Sherlock's eyes change from almost no emotion to a spark of fear and worry. He looked right into her eyes before speaking into the phone, "No, no, no, no! Tell me nothing about him, nothing."

But it was too late. Lottie could tell that by the look in Sherlock's eyes. He tried to get the woman to speak again, muttering a soft 'hello', but there was no reply. The line was dead. John and Lestrade tried asking Sherlock what happened, but he merely pulled the phone away from his ear in silence, looking right into Lottie's eyes, and they knew the old lady was dead. Lottie continued to lock eyes with Sherlock for only a second more before she had to let her eyes close, bowing her head and slumping in her chair. She couldn't believe it. They'd worked so hard.

The four of them sat in silence in honor of the old woman before they packed up and head back to Baker Street.


	4. Weeks Pass In the Blink of An Eye

Once they were back at the flat the three of them pulled up chairs around the television to watch the news on the explosion. They were blaming it on a faulty gas line, but they knew it was because of the bombs that were strapped to the old lady. Lottie was completely heart broken, folding her legs at her chest and resting her chin on her knees.

"Well, obviously I lost that round. Although technically, I did solve the case." Sherlock muted the TV, "He killed the old lady because she started to describe him. Just once, he put himself in the firing line."

"What d'you mean?" Lottie looked at him, completely and genuinely curious in his answers. The more time she spent with the boys, the more she was interested in the way their brains worked, and how they worked together. She was growing to really care for them, and she wanted to help wherever she could.

"Well, usually, he must stay above it all. He organizes these things, but no one ever has direct contact."

"What, like the Connie Prince murder, he arranged that?"

"So, people come to him wanting their crimes fixed up, like booking a holiday?" John summarized.

"Novel."

The word left his lips very low, barely audible. Lottie rolled her eyes and stood to go make some tea. Sherlock picked up the pink phone and examined once again, something he'd done over and over again, and he did it even more when they went more than thirty minutes without hearing from the bomber, "Taking his time this time."

"Anything on the Carl Powers case?" John asked.

"Nothing. All the living classmates check out spotless, no connection."

"Maybe the killer was older than Carl?" Lottie returned to her seat with her cup.

"The thought had occurred."

"So why's he doing this, then?" John said, "Playing this game with you."

"Do you think he wants to be caught?" Lottie asked curiously.

"I think he wants to be distracted." Sherlock folded his hands together with a smile. Lottie furrowed her eyebrows and John stood with an aura of aggravation.

"I hope you'll be very happy together." He said.

"John?" Lottie watched him with worried eyes. The look on his face told her that this was not going to end well.

Sherlock looked up at him, "Sorry, what?"

"There are lives at stake, Sherlock. Actual human lives!" His voice was raised, trying his hardest to get his point across to his stubborn flat mate, leaning on the back of his chair, probably holding himself back from taking a swift punch at Sherlock, "Just so I know, do you care about that at all?"

"Will caring about them help save them?"

"Nope."

"Then I'll continue not to make that mistake."

"And you find that easy, do you?"

"Yes, very." Was his swift reply. He eyed John, his mind working to really get to the root of his anger, "Is that news to you?"

"No, no." his bit his lip and Lottie glanced between the two. She kept her mouth shut, feeling that they needed this release of emotion even if she wanted so badly to step in between them; she knew it was not yet her place. There was a pause in the argument and she thought it might be over but it seemed that something clicked in Sherlock's brain and his features showed a look of realization.

"I've disappointed you."

"That's good, that's a good deduction, yeah."

"Don't make people into heroes, John. Heroes don't exist, and if they did, I wouldn't be one of them."

"Says who?"

The words left Lottie's lips before she could even thin to stop herself. She was looking at the floor but John and Sherlock were looking at her. She was quiet only a moment, thinking about her words, or if she should say anything more at all. She looked at Sherlock, "How do you know heroes don't exist?"

"Lottie," he gave an exasperated sigh but she cut him off. He seemed surprised.

"No, how do you know? Everyone could be a hero to someone. It just depends on what you need saving from." She looked him straight in the eye and he did not break the contact. Her voice had kept a low tone. She wasn't angry; she just wanted him to see. She believed in heroes of all kinds, she believed in love and miracles and for a moment she couldn't quite see how he could not. But she suddenly remembered who she was speaking with and stood, leaving without a word. She knew Sherlock was probably rolling his eyes behind her back, complaining about how illogical she was being but she didn't care. Her face was hot. She should have just kept her mouth shut, kept her thoughts to herself. She just wanted to crawl into her freezing cold flat and sleep.

Once she was downstairs she bundled up in as many clothes as she could and grabbed a blanket or two, settling down with her book. She wasn't planning on leaving the flat the rest of the day, so she snuggled into all of her fabric and opened to the first page once again. This time, she got much further into the story and within a few paragraphs she was sucked into the pages until almost nine o'clock at night. She finally looked up halfway through the book and looked around. She had lost most of her reading light and her eyes were sore as well as her back. She stood with a stretch, listening to her body pop and crack after sitting in the same spot for so long and set the book down on the seat of the couch. She wanted to take a shower, but she was pretty sure she still didn't have water. She wondered if Mrs. Hudson was still awake and figured she really had nothing to lose so she went to fetch her things and headed upstairs, stopping on the main floor to listen for any signs of life in the building. She couldn't hear anything upstairs so she figured John and Sherlock must've gone out somewhere, probably something for the bomber case. However she could hear Mrs. Hudson piddling around in her flat just a few feet away and she knocked on the door. She only had to wait a few seconds for her landlady to answer.

"Lottie! How are you?" she said once she opened the door.

Lottie smiled, "Yes, I'm good, Mrs. Hudson. Um, do you mind if I use your shower?"

"Oh, you still don't have water, do you, deary?"

She shook her head.

"Oh, if they're not there by tomorrow I'll have to call them again. Yes, come in and we'll get you all set up."

She thanked her and stepped inside, letting Mrs. Hudson lead her to the bathroom down the hallway. As soon as she left her alone she jumped right in, letting the hot water run down her back, relaxing all of those tense muscles. She scrubbed herself clean and washed her hair and twenty minutes later she shut off the water and pulled the curtain back. There were a couple towels that Mrs. Hudson laid out for her and she grabbed one to dry off her hair with, shaking it through a bit before drying her body. She stepped into sweats and pulled on a hoodie before gathering her things and joining Mrs. Hudson in the kitchen.

"Feel better?" Mrs. Hudson asked. Lottie smiled.

"Yes, I do. Thank you." she sat down at the table and ran her fingers through her hair.

"Would you like some tea?"

"Yes, thank you."

She brought out the trey and set it on the table in front of her, having a seat next to her while she took a sip, closing her eyes and taking it in pure delight.

"I'm so sorry it's taking so long to get your flat fixed." Mrs. Hudson said, but Lottie shook her head with a smile.

"It's all right. It actually helped me get to know you, and John and Sherlock."

"You've been spending a lot of time with those two the past few days. You lot seem to get on really well."

Lottie laughed, "Yeah, I guess we do."

"That's saying something, you know. They don't get on with just anybody."

"I'm beginning to realize that."

They chatted for a while longer and sipped their tea until it was gone and Lottie gathered her things to head back downstairs to her own flat. She said goodbye to Mrs. Hudson and shut the door behind her just as John and Sherlock came in from outside. She smiled, somewhat shy from her little uproar earlier but the boys didn't seem too upset with her and John waved at her.

"Hi, John. Hi, Sherlock." She said.

"Lottie." Sherlock politely nodded his head and started up the stairs to 221B, but John stopped at the first step to talk to her.

"Did you hear from the bomber today?" she asked and he nodded.

"Yeah, but it's all sorted. And no explosions this time."

"Well that's always good to hear."

"Yeah, listen, do you have anything to do tomorrow?"

She thought for a second and shook her head, "No, I don't think so. Why?"

"You remember when we went to see Mycroft."

She gave him a look, "Yes?"

"I've got to go out tomorrow and finish up that case so he will get off my arse. Would you mind coming with me."

Lottie chuckled, "Sure. When are you going?"

"Early. 'Round nine."

"Alright, sure, I'll go."

"Great. All right, then. See you in the morning."

She gave a soft wave and opened the door to the basement flat, "G'night, John."

* * *

"So this is where West was found?"

John was doing most of the talking while one of the men that worked at the train station led him and Lottie around the tracks. They had put the two of them in bright orange construction jackets for their safety while they wandered around.

"Yeah." The man replied, "Are you two gonna be long?"

"We might be."

"Are you the police, then?"

"Sort of."

"I hate 'em."

Lottie looked at him, "The police?"

He turned to her and eyed her up and down, "No, jumpers. People who chuck 'emselves in front of the trains. Selfish bastards."

She raised her eyebrows and looked away, "Well, that's one way of looking at it." She exchanged a look with John and he knelt down to have a look at the tracks.

"I mean it." the man continued, much to Lottie's dismay, "It's all right for them. It's over in a split second, strawberry jam all over the lines. What about the drivers, eh? They've got to live with hit, haven't they?"

Lottie made a face at his metaphor. It wasn't that she was really faint-hearted, but merely that she'd never heard that specific expression before and that one kind of made her sick to her stomach. But something hit her when she looked down and she kneeled down next to John to examine the tracks with him.

"There's no blood." She murmured.

"Yeah, I know." John must've been looking at the same thing.

"What?" the engineer leaned over them, trying to hear what they were talking about and John turned to him, standing up with Lottie.

"Yeah, um, speaking of strawberry jam, there's no blood on the line. Has it been cleaned off?"

"No, there wasn't that much."

John and Lottie stared at him. He couldn't be serious.

"You said his head was smashed in." Lottie said.

"It was, but there wasn't much blood."

"That doesn't even…no, okay." she smiled and thanked him before turning away. The man gave her a look behind her back and John returned it with a stern gaze. He took few steps away from him and scratched the back of his neck.

"Well, I'll leave you both to it, then." He said, "Just give us a shout when you're off."

"Right." John stared him down until he was almost out of sight and he rolled his eyes before returned to the track. Lottie was already having a look around, trying to find something that stood out to her but so far there was nothing.

"Right, so, Andrew West…he got on the train somewhere. He must have." She said aloud.

"Or did he?" John said, "There was no ticket on the body."

"Right, but there's no way he could've died here. They said his head was smashed in, but there's nothing here to prove that. No blood, no security footage. Nothing."

"So, how did he end up here?"

The tracks next to them switched over to a new line and John knelt down, to have a better look at them again. He seemed to be concentrating very hard on something so Lottie didn't say a word, letting him, hopefully, come up with some sort of answer for this mess.

"The points."

Lottie just about jumped out of her skin at Sherlock's voice and John stood with a victorious "Yes!" only to find that Sherlock had once again bested him. He merely looked disappointed while Lottie was trying to regain control of her breathing with a humorous smile.

"I knew you'd get there eventually." Sherlock said, "West wasn't killed here, that's why there was so little blood."

"How long have you been following us?" John asked, a little out of breath as well. He must've been at least a little bit startled. Lottie was secretly glad she wasn't the only one.

"Since the start. You don't think I'd give up on a case like this just to spite my brother, do you?"

"Mm, yes." Lottie said. Sherlock looked at her and she smiled at him, showing all of her teeth.

"Lottie. I applaud your skills. You and John work well together. We may have to keep you around."

Her mouth dropped open, only slightly before the corner of her mouth pulled up in a half smile. He did the same, "Come on, we've got a bit of burglary to do."

"Burglary?"

"Don't question." John put a hand on her back, leading her back to the station so they could return their bright orange jackets and follow Sherlock a few blocks down the street, listening to Sherlock explain his findings as they walked.

"Missile defense plans haven't left the country, otherwise Mycroft's people would have heard about it. Despite what people think, we do still have a secret service."

"Yeah, I know, I've met them." John said.

"We do?" Lottie suddenly felt a little out of the loop.

"Yes, which means whoever stole the memory stick can't sell it or doesn't know what to do with it. My money's on the latter." Sherlock said but as they continued walking, Lottie's mobile rang rom inside her large purse that hung just at her hip. She dug around the side pocket for only a second before pulling it out to answer it. She smiled at the caller ID and held it to her ear.

"Mrs. Hudson." She said, "Oh, really?...Right now?...All right, I'll be there as fast as I can."

She hung up and stuck her phone back in her bag. John turned to look at her, "What did Mrs. Hudson say?"

"They've finally got someone out to look at my flat but they're actually there right now and I've still only got the one key so they can't get in unless I'm there. Will you boys be alright without me?" she joked. John chuckled.

"Yes, go. But be careful."

She smiled, "You too." he rolled his eyes and she veered off across the road, jogging down to the main road at the end of the sidewalk to catch a cab and John watched her until she was safely in the car before picking up a little bit of speed to follow Sherlock into the back alley of someone's house.

* * *

"No, no, no! Course he's not the boy's father. Look at the turn-ups on his jeans!"

Sherlock sat bundled in his chair, still in his coat and scar, in front of the television, entertaining himself with evening game shows while John sat at his desk to work on the blog. Sherlock was obviously bored and much to John's dismay it was his only option, letting Sherlock get hold of the TV clicker.

"I knew it was dangerous." John said.

"Hm?" Sherlock didn't take his eyes off the television.

"Getting you into crap telly."

"Not a patch on Connie Prince."

They had finished the case on Andrew West just a few hours ago and now they were sat waiting to hear from their bomber, waiting to hear what his next move was gonna be but once again he was taking his sweet time and it was driving Sherlock mad.

"Have you given Mycroft the memory stick yet?" John asked, attempting to get their mind off of things. Plus he was really sick of those text messages and emails from his flat mate's brother.

"Yep." Sherlock said, "He was over the moon. Threatened me with a knighthood…again."

"You know, I'm still waiting."

"Hm."

"For you to admit that a little knowledge of the solar system and you'd have cleared up the fake painting a lot quicker.

"It didn't do _you_ any good, did it?"

"No, but I'm not the world's only consulting detective." He closed his laptop and adjusted his cardigan.

"True."

"I won't be in for tea. I'm going to Sarah's." He stood and reached for his coat and keys, "There's still some of that risotto left in the fridge. And, milk, we need milk."

"I'll get some." Sherlock offered. John turned to look at him, baffled.

"Really?"

"Really."

"And some beans, then?"

"Mm."

John was very much impressed and was about to walk out the door when Mrs. Hudson came jogging up the stairs, looking very worried.

"Mrs. Hudson, what's the matter?" John asked. Sherlock looked up from his chair with mild interest.

"Have you seen Lottie at tall today?"

"Yeah, she was just with us earlier this morning. Why?"

"Well, I just haven't heard from her since I called her and I'm getting a little worried."

"Oh, I'm sure she's alright. Might just have gone to run some errands."

"Oh, maybe."

John smiled, "I've got to go, but ring me if you need anything."

He ran off down the stairs and Sherlock waited until he was sure his flat mate was out the door before pulling out his computer and setting it in his lap, pulling up his website to type a message to the bomber.

'Found. The Bruce-Partington plans. Please collect.

The Pool. Midnight.'

He sent the message and looked up to see Mrs. Hudson still standing at the door with her phone to her ear, "Still no answer." She muttered.

"Did your people come fix Lottie's flat?" he set his laptop on the floor beside his chair.

"They came, but they didn't fix anything."

"What? Why?"

"Like I said. I haven't heard from her since I rang her."

"You mean, she never came home?"

She shook her head, "That's why I'm worried."

"Odd." He paused a moment and sucked in a breath, "But, I'm sure John's right. She's probably fine, just out running some errands or such."

"Oh, I hope so." She disappeared down the stairs, mumbling something about how girls Lottie's age shouldn't be out alone at night and Sherlock sat still until he heard her flat door close. It was definitely odd that Lottie hadn't come home when he knew that John had watched to make sure she'd made it to that cab, and it was in broad daylight. However, they hadn't quite known her long enough to know if her being unreachable like this was normal or not. He shook the thought and stood up to start getting ready for his meeting.


	5. I Will Fall for You

At midnight sharp Sherlock entered the pool with a little bit of caution. He took a few steps in and glanced around. It seemed that he was alone, but he knew better than to think like that. This man was dangerous, and smart. So many scenarios ran through his mind, all of which he accounted for and after a few moments he held up the memory stick that he was supposed to give back to his brother, offering it up to whomever had gone to so much trouble to get it.

"Brought you a little getting-to-know-you present." He announced, "That's what it's all been for, isn't it? All your little puzzles, making me dance. All to distract me from this."

He paused a moment, waiting for a reaction, turning circles to keep an eye on the scene around him. He heard a door open and his gaze followed the sound, waiting for the bomber to show himself, but his face, and to his surprise, his heart dropped when Lottie came into his view. She stood there, looking away from him with her hands in her coat pockets, chewing on her bottom lip. His eyes searched her, trying to deduce her state: her well-being, what she was thinking, and right now where exactly her heart was and what she was trying to do. She was pale, even more so than usual and if she bit on that lip any harder she was going to bite it off. After a moment of silence, just the lap of the chlorine filled water lap at the sides of the pool, she squeezed her eyes shut even tighter and Sherlock waited until she finally looked at him with bloodshot grey eyes.

"Evening." She whispered. Her muscles were tense and she was breathing heavily through her nose, "This is a turn-up, isn't it, Sherlock?"

Sherlock was having a hard time understanding the situation, "Lottie! What the hell…?"

"Bet you never saw this coming."

Something in her tone of voice caught his attention. He took a few steps towards her and she took a few steps back, something she'd done at Mr. Prince's when she was afraid she was going to anger him. This was not her doing and he felt idiotic for even thinking that there was a chance it was her. However something wasn't right. She closed her eyes again and slipped her hands out of her pockets to pull back her coat, revealing her whole torso and chest to be covered in bombs.

"What…would you like me to make her say…next?" she said. There were little red dots of light aimed at her chest where a rather large explosive sat right over her heart. Sherlock took a few steps towards her and looked around as she repeated nonsense words over and over.

"Stop it." he said. She winced but he words stopped. Sherlock continued to inspect the entire room until Lottie was forced to speak again.

"Nice touch, this. The pool, where little Carl died. I stopped him." she sucked in a breath and swallowed, "I can stopped Charlotte Blakely, too. Stop her heart."

Sherlock looked around, "Who are you?"

Another door opened and he whipped around to see the face of their bomber but once again he was hidden, just out of reach, behind one of the walls on the other side of the room.

"I gave you my number." He called out, "I thought you might call."

Finally, he stepped out from his hiding spot and Sherlock immediately recognize him as the guy that Molly was "dating", Jim. His eyes narrowed and he stared him down, watching his every move.

"Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?"

Sherlock pulled a gun from his trouser pocket and aimed it at the bomber, "Both."

There was a pause and the bomber simply stood with his hands in his pockets and a broad smile plastered on his face, "Jim Moriarty. Hi."

He started making his way around the pool, slowly, as if he was teasing Sherlock to be so close to his goal, "Jim? Jim from the hospital?" he mocked but Sherlock said nothing, placing both hands on his weapon.

"Oh, did I really make such a fleeting impression?" he continued, "But then, I suppose, that was rather the point."

Lottie sucked in a breath when the red light moved and Sherlock glanced at her. Moriarty watched with a bit of disinterest, "Don't be silly. Someone else is holding the rifle. I don't like getting my hands dirty. I've given you a glimpse, Sherlock just a teensy glimpse of what I've got going on out there in the big bad world. I'm a specialist, you see. Like you."

"Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me to get rid of my lover's nasty sister? Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me to disappear to South Africa?" Sherlock never took his eyes off of Moriarty, holding the gun aimed right for his chest. Jim smiled.

"Just so."

"Consulting Criminal. Brilliant."

"Isn't it? No one ever gets to me. And no one ever will."

Sherlock cocked his gun, "I did."

"You've come the closest. Now you're in my way."

"Thank you."

"Didn't mean it as a compliment."

"Yes, you did."

"Yeah, okay, I did." He shrugged, "But the flirting is over, Sherlock. Daddy's had enough now. I've shown you what I can do. I cut lose all those people, all those little problems, even 30 million quid, just to get you to come out and play. So take this as a friendly warning…my dear. Back off."

Lottie was taking deep breaths through her nose, trying to keep herself calm and not disturb Sherlock and Moriarty. Too many things were at stake here for her to screw it up. She was starting to shake but she was trying her best not to show it however Sherlock's eyes kept flicking over to her, his brain working a million miles a minute and she could tell that he knew she was scared. Or rather, more or less terrified. She couldn't hide that from him. Moriarty was getting closer and closer to where they stood and Lottie's muscles were beginning to ache from shaking and trying to keep as still as possible.

"Although I have loved this, this little game of ours." Moriarty continued, "Playing Jim from IT. Playing gay. Did you like the little touch with the underwear?"

"People have died." Sherlock said.

"That's what people do!" his voice rose till he was shouting and Lottie jumped at his tone and a squeak of fear escaped her lips. Another deep breath to calm down again, her eyes closed, concentrating hard. She could taste the blood from biting her lip too hard.

"I will stop you." Sherlock kept his cool, adjusting his stance and looking strong, trying to really get inside Moriarty's head.

"No, you won't."

Sherlock looked at Lottie, his eyes scanning over her frame. She didn't seem to be injured but her mental and emotional health were dropping every second they were there, "Are you alright?"

She took a second to open her eyes and look at him. They were glazed over in blinding fear and pure determination, but she said nothing. Sherlock waited impatiently for her to speak and Moriarty approached her, laying his head in the crook of her neck. A strange anger boiled in the pit of Sherlock's stomach but he held back as Jim spoke into Lottie's ear.

"You can talk, Little Lottie. Go ahead."

Sherlock and Lottie locked eyes and something about the way Moriarty spoke to her did set well with him. She pursed her lips biting down on the inside of her cheeks and gave a small, almost unnoticeable nod. He held her gaze for a moment longer before holding out the memory stick to Moriarty, "Take it."

"Mm? Oh, that." He stepped away from Lottie and she let out a small breath. He took the stick from Sherlock and turned it over in his fingers, "The missile plans. Boring! I could've got them anywhere."

He tossed the stick in the pool and turned to Lottie, lifting her chin with his fingers. She looked him straight I the eye and he shook his head, "You know, I thought of bringing Dr. Watson here tonight after you messaged me about our secret meeting." He looked back at Sherlock, "But you show a lot of emotion in those eyes of yours. Did you know that?"

Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows in confusion but he continued to hold his stance. Moriarty rolled his eyes and let go of Lottie's chin, "Do you know what happens if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock? To you?"

"Oh, let me guess, I get killed."

"Kill you? No, don't be obvious. I mean, I'm going to kill you anyway, some day. I don't wanna rush it, though. No, no, no, no, no. If you don't stop prying…I'll burn you. I'll burn the heart out of you."

"I have been reliably informed that I don't have one."

"But we both know that's not quite true." He smiled and looked right at Lottie, letting one of his knuckled caress her cheekbone. She didn't flinch, looking straight ahead. The anger that Sherlock didn't quite understand made a home in his chest but he did not act on it. Moriarty chuckled at his naivety, replacing his hands to his pockets, "Well, I'd better be off. So nice to have had a proper chat."

"What if I was to shoot you now? Right now?" Sherlock asked.

"Then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face." he faked a surprised look and chuckled, "'Cause I'd be surprised, Sherlock. Really, I would. And just a teensy bit…disappointed. And of course, you wouldn't be able to cherish it for very long."

For a moment a red light appeared on Sherlock's forehead and he closed his eyes, releasing a breath to calm his racing heart. Moriarty chuckled, "Ciao, Sherlock Holmes."

He exited the pool out the door that Lottie had come through and Sherlock was forced to stand still until the rifle aim was gone. When it was he cautiously peeked around the corner, holding the gun aimed at the door where he caught a glimpse of Moriarty's figure just as he stepped into the hall on the other side, "Catch you…later."

"No, you won't!"

The door closed and almost as soon as it clicked shut Sherlock looked at Lottie. The red lights were gone and she was holding her breath. A few tears escaped her eyes and he set the gun down on the floor before skidding to his knees in front of her, working fast to remove the bomb infused vest around her frame.

"All right?" he said frantically, "Charlotte, are you all right? Are you hurt?"

She shook her head as he stripped her of the vest and her coat, sliding them both far away from them. He turned around just in time to catch her as her knees gave way beneath her. She gripped his shoulders and he knelt down with her in his arms, leaning her frame on the wall behind them. She started hyperventilating and Sherlock tried to get her to look at him. When she did he coached her through the episode.

"Lottie, Lottie, you have to breathe. If you don't breathe your brain isn't going to get enough oxygen and you'll faint."

He breathed in and out twice and he nodded in encouragement. She gave a slight nod back and he stood, grabbing the gun and hurrying to check just outside the door where Moriarty had vanished, but he was long gone by then. He cursed under his breath and returned to the pool area where Lottie was hugging her knees in the spot where he'd left her. He began to pace back and forth.

"You shouldn't sit like that. Sit up straight, it opens up the lungs, makes it easier to breathe." He muttered at her. She looked up and after a moment she nodded, still a little out of breath. Sherlock was too, his breathing coming in short rough gasps. He stopped pacing and looked at her. She had her head leaned back on the wall with her eyes closed again. There were tear stains on her cheeks but she wasn't crying anymore. He swallowed and took a deep breath, "Are you all right?"

She nodded, "I'm fine. Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"Me? Yeah, fine. I'm fine…fine."

There was silence and nothing could be heard except the pool water lapping at the edge of the pool and both of their breaths as they tried to refill their lungs again. Sherlock stood there a moment, trying to wrap his brain around what had just occurred, filing away important information and deciding what they should do next. Lottie, on the other hand, was ready to sleep right there on the tile floor she was so tired all of the sudden. She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again, ready to stand and help Sherlock with his next move but as soon as she tried to stand, dizziness enveloped her and she started to fall forward. Sherlock caught her and she held tight until she could see properly.

"I told you." he said bluntly, helping her to sit back down and sit next to her.

"But Moriarty," she said. Sherlock sighed.

"He's gone. I checked, and I have no idea where to find him." he leaned his forehead on the palm of his hand with the gun dangling from his fingers, "I don't like not knowing."

"You think he'll keep this up? This game?"

"Yes, but there will be new rules this time." He leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling. Lottie watched him while they sat in silence. His brain was going at it again and it was like it never stopped. The corner of her mouth pulled up in a smirk and she rolled her eyes, leaning her head on his shoulder. He glanced down at her, about to ask what she was doing but she spoke before him.

"Thank you. For saving me."

He opened his mouth to say something but to his surprise, he had nothing to say, so he closed his mouth again and leaned his head back on the wall. They sat there in silence for only a minute before Lottie spoke up.

"I think I can stand now."

"Oh, yes, all right, then." Sherlock stood and turned to help her up, letting her stand slowly. But almost as soon as they were both on their feet more red lights appeared and one of the doors creaked open.

"No." Lottie muttered.

"Sorry, friends. I'm so changeable!" Moriarty announced, stepping out from behind the door, "It is a weakness with me, but to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness."

"Sherlock." Lottie whispered and Moriarty just shook his head.

"You can't be allowed to continue. You just can't. I would try to convince you, but everything I have to say has already crossed your mind."

Sherlock thought a moment and he turned back to look at Lottie, his face determined and apologetic before turning back to Moriarty.

"Probably my answer has crossed yours."

He cocked his gun once again and aimed it right for the bombs that had been strapped to Lottie's frame, now lying not ten feet from where Moriarty stood.


	6. We're Drifting

Lottie had never felt such an array of emotions. She was terrified out of her mind, worried for both Sherlock and herself, and angry that Moriarty had gotten away. Ten minutes ago she felt bad, like it was her fault that Sherlock wasn't able to get at him, but now that he was back, standing right in front of them she wanted nothing more than to strangle the man. Sherlock held his aim at the bombs and a smirk was slowly growing on Moriarty's lips. Lottie kept her breathing even, knowing that she wasn't the only one who wanted to slap that smile right off his face. After a few minutes of tense silence, music began to fill the room, a familiar tune and Sherlock and Lottie looked around, confusion apparent on their faces. Moriarty rolled his eyes in annoyance and Sherlock and Lottie glanced at each other.

"Do you mind if I get that?" he said.

"What?" the word escaped Lottie's lips before she could help it but Sherlock kept his weapon at the ready.

"Oh no, please. You've got the rest of your life."

Moriarty answered his phone with an aggravated 'hello' and Lottie stood there flabbergasted. This was not happening. He turned to them and mouthed an apology to which Sherlock returned with a lazy shrug but one look at him and Lottie could see the determination in his features. She bit her lip and turned back to Moriarty just as his voice rose in anger.

"Say that again!" he exclaimed, "Say that again and know that if you're lying to me, I will find you and I will skin you."

Sherlock glanced back at Lottie who was staring at their bomber with wide, unsure eyes. He debated telling her to run, to get out of here while she had a chance but something was different. There was a tug at his heart that he'd never experienced. He furrowed his eyebrows, his mind working a thousand miles a second and that something told him that he wanted her here. Not because she was in danger, in fact he wanted her out of danger, but he wanted her there with him. He shook his head and his stance faltered only a millisecond, he was sure she didn't even notice, and Moriarty's voice brought him back to the matter at hand and he turned back to him, pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind.

"Wait." He lowered his phone and took a few steps closer to the two of them and Sherlock cocked the gun again.

"Sorry, wrong day to die." Moriarty said rather solemnly.

"Oh. Did you get a better offer?" Sherlock said.

He gave him a smirk, turning on his heel to walk away and Sherlock brought his other hand to get a better grip on the gun, his aim following Moriarty as he made his way to the door on the other side of the pool, chatting away on his mobile, "So if you have what you say you have, I will make you rich. If you don't, I'll make you into shoes."

He snapped his fingers as he walked out the door and the red lights that had held their aim at Lottie and Sherlock vanished. Sherlock looked around the room and Lottie let out a breath she didn't even know she was holding.

"I lied. I'm not ready to stand yet." She sat back down against the wall, holding a hand to her head. She started rubbing her temples and Sherlock lowered his weapon, "Sherlock, what just happened there?"

He looked down at her, his eyes taking in her state even though he knew good and well she was perfectly fine, possibly experiencing a little bit of shock and exhaustion, but she was fine and he took a breath of relief, shaking his head, "Someone changed his mind. The question is, who?"

She blinked, "Who do you think it was?"

"I have no idea." One more breath and he put his weapon away, holding out his hand to her, "Come on, Mrs. Hudson is worried sick about you."

She gave a small smile and took his hand without hesitation. Once she was to her feet they started for the door and Sherlock let their hands linger for just a tad longer than usual. One loud beat of her heart on Lottie's ear made her look up at him, but he wasn't looking at her, and she suddenly felt a little flustered, but a smirk on his face made her furrow her eyebrows.

"What?" she said. He held open the door for her and looked down at her as she passed by him.

"It seems we're gonna have to find someone else to fix your flat."

* * *

Months went by and it seemed that you almost never saw John, Sherlock, or Lottie without one of the other two. They were completely inseparable and just after the pool incident with Moriarty and Sherlock brought Lottie home safe and sound John had her sleep upstairs with them until they could fix her heat and electricity. At least, that what he claimed, but Lottie had a feeling that Mrs. Hudson had something to do with it. She always told her she shouldn't be out and about by herself no matter how many safety precautions she took. So for a week, Lottie slept on the living room sofa until Mrs. Hudson finally got someone out to fix her heat, electricity, and even put brand new locks on all of her doors. But even after she was safely back in her own flat and completely settled in, she spent more and more time up in the boys' flat. Two weeks ago Sherlock would've complained that she was there all too much, but to everyone's surprise, he questioned when she wasn't there. It was a subtle change in his persona, but no one questioned it. They merely applauded Lottie for putting up with the most notorious Baker Street residents on a day to day basis.

Once things calmed down, more and more people were coming to have their cases solved by the Sherlock Holmes and his "trusty sidekicks" and that's when John got the idea to start up blogging again. His therapist when he got back from the war had always wanted him to blog about what happened to him but at the time, nothing happened to him. He had nothing to blog about. But now he did. And almost as soon as he posted another case, their clients almost doubled and tripled. Sherlock turned most of them away, but people from all over would come ring their doorbell and Lottie or John would bring them up to sit in one of their desk chairs while the three of them would sit and listen to their case and Sherlock would decide if they were interesting enough. If they took the case, John would blog about it as soon as it was solved and still fresh on his mind. He gave them interesting titles that, most of the time, Sherlock thought were idiotic. But Sherlock thought most everything was idiotic so he ignored him. Titles like "The Geek Interpreter", "The Speckled Blonde", and several others brought them a lot of attention but the three of them didn't know just how much until the day when Lestrade called them up for a case at the local theatre. They gathered their things and headed straight there and within a matter of hours, Sherlock had the case solved and locked down.

"So what's this one?" Sherlock said, walking in between John and Lottie.

"'Bellybutton Murders'?" Lottie suggested.

"'The Navel Treatment'?" John put in. They all muttered their agreement and met up with Lestrade in the hallway just behind the main stage, heading for the exit door.

"There's a lot of press outside, guys." He said.

"Well, they won't be interested in us." Sherlock said.

"Yeah, that was before you were an internet phenomenon. Couple of them specifically wanted photographs of you three."

"For God's sake!" he stepped into a dressing room and grabbed a hat from one of the coat racks, throwing it at his flat mate, "John. Cover your face and walk fast. Lottie."

She stopped and turned to face him as he pulled his scarf off of his neck, placing it around her neck. He adjusted it so it was close to her neck and face and popped her collar up on her coat.

"Still, it's good for the public image, big case like this." Lestrade said. Sherlock rolled his eyes and Lottie smirked at him, picking up a double lidded hat and handing it to him. He took it and placed it on his head, leading them to the door.

"I'm a private detective, the last thing I need is a public image!" he adjusted the hat and pulled his collar up as far as possible before stepping out into the crowd after Lestrade, who was trying his hardest to make a path to the cab. Camera flashes were going off everywhere and behind him, Lottie was struggling to get through, trying to keep her head down and keep up with Sherlock's long legs. John was behind her, hovering his hands around her frame, but she finally reached out to grab ahold of Sherlock's coat and he could feel the slight tug from her continuously getting stuck in the massive amounts of people. Without thinking he reached behind him and took her hand in his, leading her to the cab and helping her inside before stepping inside himself with John tumbling in behind them and they were off. The next morning there were thousands of copies of the new famous trio plastered in every newspaper, all of them clinging to each other for dear life and that's when Lottie knew that they were in deep, and there was no turning back now.

* * *

A week later, Lottie intentionally didn't set an alarm. She had every intention of sleeping in considering she was usually was up and about in the early hours in order to go job hunting or to help John and Sherlock with a case but for whatever reasons that Mrs. Hudson or John or Sherlock wouldn't tell her, her rent was being taken care of. She tried asking everyone they hung around but no one seemed to know what she was talking about and Mrs. Hudson merely gave her a soft, knowing smile. She knew they were all lying, but she eventually gave up and let it be. None of them were going to tell her and Mrs. Hudson refused to take her money so by golly she was going to sleep in for once, considering they weren't in the middle of any cases. But then, she should've known that wasn't going to last.

"Lottie?" John voice rang in her sleep and she grunted in replay. He sat down on her bed and shook her shoulder, "Lottie, come on. We've got a case."

She cracked open an eye, mumbling into her pillow, "What time is it?"

"Nine o'clock."

She closed her eyes again and took a deep breath, "Has Sherly already taken the case?"

"Would I have come to wake you if he didn't?"

"Yes." Came her blunt reply. She could almost hear him roll his eyes as he stood from her bed.

"Come on, then."

She groaned, "All right, I'll be up there in two minutes."

She could hear his footsteps heading back up the stairs and she laid there for a few seconds more, mentally preparing herself to get out from under her nice warm blankets. With a sigh she sat up and blinked hard, rubbing her eyes and face before throwing her legs over the edge of the bed, shuffling across the hardwood floor to her closet. Ten minutes later she was walking up the stairs with her hair pulled back out of her face dressed in skinny jeans and a blue, oversized sweater, heading straight to the kitchen for tea but she was stopped right inside the door by John. He thrusted a travel mug with a tea bag tag hanging off the side. She looked down at her hands confused and he grabbed his coat.

"Come on, Sherlock's sending us to the scene."

"But where is he?" She followed him down the stairs.

"Sleeping."

"You're joking."

He didn't answer her and she was once again baffled by Sherlock's overbearing personality. One would think she'd be used to this by now. But as much as he irritated her, something about him pulled at her heartstrings. She wasn't quite sure what it was, but she felt something there. Of course she ignored it ninety percent of the time, like now when she almost felt disappointed that he wouldn't be going with them. She stepped into the cab that John had hailed and he gave her the rundown of the case: the files, details from the client, what he thought, what Sherlock was thinking. She sunk into her seat, sipping on her tea that John had so graciously made for her and glancing through the papers he'd handed her.

"I can't believe he's making us do this." She said.

"Well, you know Sherlock." John replied, watching out the window at all the trees go by. There were being taken out into the middle of nowhere it seemed and Lottie could tell he was getting anxious. She raised her eyes and inclined her head.

"You can say that again."

The cab started to slow and she looked up, sitting up in her seat as they came to a stop. John turned to her as he unstrapped himself from his seat, "Go ahead and get Sherlock on the screen. I'll talk to the police."

She pulled his laptop from his bag and he spoke to one of the officers through the window before stepping out of the car. She pulled up the screen with Sherlock's video camera on the other side, but there was nobody there.

"Sherlock?" she said. She could hear John outside introducing himself to the detective of the case and then Sherlock came into view. She smile and he leaned over the back of the chair, clicking something on the screen, then a smile appeared on his face as well. He was wearing nothing but a sheet.

 _"Morning, Lottie."_ He said.

"Good morning, Sherlock."

_"Ready for a good mystery on this lovely morning?"_

She rolled her eyes, "As ready as I'll ever be." She got out of the car, careful not to drop the computer and he walked out of screen and down the hall.

"Who are you?" the detective griped. She ignored his attitude.

"This is Lottie Blakely, and this," John took his laptop from her, "is Sherlock Holmes."

"You're joking."

"I wish we were." Lottie said, adjusting her sweater on her shoulders and following the two boys further into the crime scene. She started to take everything in, all of the tents set up and the different cars around and the people. It wasn't much different from one of Lestrade's cases but it was always interesting to see how other people worked.

"You realize this is a tiny bit humiliating?" John told Sherlock as he came back on screen, grabbing his coffee mug and laptop, moving into the living room to sit at the desk. He was still dressed in only a sheet.

 _"It's okay, I'm fine. Now, show me to the stream."_ He said.

"I didn't really mean for you."

_"Look, this is a six. There's no point in my leaving the flat for anything less than a seven, we agreed. Now, go back, show me the grass."_

"When did we agree that?" John moved the computer down at Sherlock's request. The detective continued to stare at them with a look of confused disgust. He wasn't making it very high on Lottie's favorite people list so far.

_"We agreed it yesterday. Stop. Closer."_

John furrowed his eyebrows and turned the screen to look at them, "I wasn't even at home yesterday, I was in Dublin."

_"Then Lottie and I agreed it, then."_

"Nope. Was visiting my parents in Doncaster yesterday." She said.

_"Then it's hardly my fault you two weren't listening."_

A faint doorbell sounded in the background and Sherlock threw out a solid "Shut up!" in it general direction.

"Do you just carry on talking when Lottie and I are away?" John asked.

_"I don't know, how often are you away? Now, show me the car that backfired."_

John lifted up the laptop and turned it to face the road, "It's there."

_"That's the one that made the noise, yes?"_

"Yeah. If you're thinking gunshot, there wasn't one."

"He wasn't shot, he was killed by a single blow to the back of the head from a blunt instrument, which then magically disappeared, along with the killer." Lottie added.

"It's got to be an eight at least."

"You've got two more minutes, they want to know more about the driver." The detective said.

_"Oh, forget him, he's an idiot. Why else would he think himself a suspect?"_

"I think he's a suspect."

Sherlock leaned into the screen, _"Pass me over."_

"All right, but there's a mute button and I will use it."

He held up the computer to the detective and Sherlock complained that he wasn't holding it high enough so John simply handed it over to him, quickening his pace to he was walking next to Lottie in front of them, sticking his hands in his pockets.

"Poor sod." Lottie said, "He never knew what hit him."

"Hopefully we will once we find the murder weapon." John replied. She looked up at him.

"I was talking about the detective."

They could faintly hear Sherlock's voice through the computer going on and on about the condition of the driver and why he couldn't possibly be a suspect while the detective simply kept his mouth shut in defeat. John and Lottie chuckled.

 _"Now, go to the stream."_ Sherlock finally said.

"What's in the stream?" the detective asked.

_"Go and see."_

_"Sherlock! You weren't answering your doorbell."_

"Mrs. Hudson?" Lottie leaned over John's shoulder as he took the laptop back and the two of them walked towards one of the police cars where he could set it on the hood. They watched two men dressed in nice suits coming into the boys' flat after Mrs. Hudson, just as one of them shut Sherlock's computer and their end went dark.

"Sherlock, what's happening?" Lottie continued trying to reach Sherlock while John started messing with the controls but it was too late.

"I've lost him." John said. One of the police officers approached them with a phone held to his ear and Lottie turned her attention to him.

"Miss Blakely? Dr. Watson?"

"Yeah." John confirmed.

"It's for you."

"Okay, thanks. Lottie can take it."

"Uh, no, sir, the helicopter."

"Helicopter?" Lottie furrowed her eyebrows just as the copter touched down in the field on the other side of the stream. John looked up from his computer and they both shared looks of awe for a moment. The officer started for it with a smile and John placed a hand on Lottie's back to lead her down into the open field that stretch out beyond the crime scene. He helped her get set up with the headset and one of the pilots helped her into the copter while he got fixed up with his own set and once they were both safely strapped in they lifted up from the ground. Lottie grabbed hold of John's arm as they flew over England's countryside, anticipating where they were being transported to. Twenty minutes later Lottie pointed out Buckingham Palace to John and they looked at each other

They touched down and some of the palace staff helped them into the pad and inside the palace doors. The two of them looked around and Lottie shook her head, "What on earth has Sherlock gotten himself into now?"

They followed their escort deep into the Palace and were dropped off in some sort of drawing room. They looked around a bit at their surrounding and there, still sat in nothing but the white sheet from his bed, was Sherlock. Lottie shook her head with a chuckle and he looked at them. John shrugged his shoulders in question as to what the hell they were doing here but Sherlock merely rolled his eyes. Lottie took a seat next to him and John sat on her other side and they were all quiet a while and John couldn't seem to keep still, craning his head in every direction. Lottie was trying her hardest to keep from giggling when John leaned over her to analyze Sherlock's sheet.

"Are you wearing pants?" he said.

"No." Sherlock replied, looking straight ahead.

"Okay."

It was silent again but Lottie couldn't stand it anymore. She busted out in a fit of laughter, covering her mouth when the boys looked at her from both sides and one look at each other and they were laughing along with her. After a few minutes when it finally died down Lottie looked around the room, taking in all the scenery, "Wow, Buckingham Palace."

"I am seriously fighting an impulse to steal an ashtray." John mumbled, sending Lottie and Sherlock into a fit of giggled again as he shook his head.

"Sherlock, what are we doing here?" Lottie said, "Seriously."

"I don't know." He replied.

"Here to see the Queen?" John remarked and just as the words left his mouth, none other than Mycroft Holmes stepped around the corner, grabbing their attention.

"Oh, apparently, yes." Sherlock joked. The three of them burst into laughter once again and Mycroft rolled his eyes.

"Just once can you three behave like grownups?" he said.

"We solve crimes, I blog about it, and Sherlock forgets his pants. I wouldn't hold out too much hope." John said, "You're lucky you've got Lottie here to keep us in check."

"Yes, she's not much use for anything else."

"Mycroft!" Sherlock and John stared him down in angry protectiveness and Mycroft eyed her and she returned the favor without hesitation. He seemed to think that he was in control of everything but she knew simply from being friends with his brother that it wasn't the case with everything. He had his hand in a lot of things, but she would not be put down by him.

"I was in the middle of a case, Mycroft." Sherlock complained.

"What, the hiker and the backfire?" Mycroft held Lottie's gaze for a second longer before turning to his brother, "I glanced at the police report, a bit obvious, surely?"

"Transparent."

"Time to move on then." Mycroft picked up Sherlock's pile of clothes on the table in front of them that Lottie hadn't even noticed were sitting there as she and John exchanged dumbfounded looks. If Sherlock knew the entire time what had happened to the hiker then why on earth had he sent them to the crime scene for? Lottie had a feeling she knew the answer to that one but she kept her mouth shut and watched Sherlock huff and turn away from his brother. Mycroft gave an exhausted sigh, "We are in Buckingham Palace, at the very heart of the British nation. Sherlock Holmes, put your trousers on!"

"What for?" he replied, rather calmly.

"Your client."

Sherlock stood, puffing out his chest like a five-year-old boy fighting with his brother, which is exactly how he was acting: like a five-year-old. Or as John would say, a drama queen. Lottie rolled her eyes and leaned her face into her hand.

"And my client is?" Sherlock said.

"Illustrious, in the extreme." Another man dressed in a sharp suit came around the corner and John stood in respect, "And remaining, I have to inform you, entirely anonymous."

Lottie eyed the man cautiously, watching John as she wasn't sure if she should stand as well. After a second she followed his lead, even if she could feel the aura of dickhead filling the room simply by his entrance.

"Harry." Mycroft set Sherlock's clothes down again and reached out to shake the man's extended hand, "May I just apologize for the state of my little brother?"

"A full time occupation, I imagine. And this must be Dr. Watson, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers?"

"Hello, yes." John shook his hand and Lottie had to fight the urge to punch him.

"My employer is a tremendous fan of your blog."

"Your employer?"

"Particularly enjoyed the one about the aluminum crutch."

"Thank you." John turned to eye Sherlock and he rolled his eyes. Lottie snickered under her breath and she almost regretted even breathing. Harry turned his attention to her and she bit her lip.

"You must be Miss Charlotte Blakely." He stepped in front of her and she was slightly taken aback by is abruptness. She shook his hand tentively.

"Lottie, please." She muttered.

"Yes, I think the entire world knows about Little Lottie." He smiled and she took in a deep breath, forcing a smile.

"It's Lottie." Sherlock muttered and she looked up at him, as did everyone else. Harry finally let go of her hand and she stepped a little bit closer to John while Harry's full attention was on Sherlock.

"And Mr. Holmes the younger, you look taller in your photographs." He said.

"I take the precaution of a good coat and short friends. Mycroft, I don't do anonymous clients. I'm used to mystery at one end of my cases, both ends is too much work. Good morning." He started to walk away, but Mycroft stopped him, stomping one foot on the end of his brother's sheet, causing Sherlock to grab it just before it got a little too low. Lottie could feel her cheeks redden and she was glad the entire room's attention was on Sherlock, who was trying to pull away from Mycroft with no success.

"This is a matter of national importance." Mycroft said, "Grow up!"

"Get off my sheet!" Sherlock argued.

"Or what?"

"Or I'll just walk away."

"I'll let you. And in front of your lady-friend, too."

Sherlock looked back at Lottie, obviously weighing his options, with her beat-red face; she thinned her lips and raised her eyebrows. She was trying her hardest to hold in her laughter. His lips twitched and he turned back around, "She's seen worse."

"Boys, please. Not here." John finally stepped in.

"Who is my client?" Sherlock said through gritted teeth. Mycroft looked and took a deep breath.

"Take a look at where you're standing and make a deduction. You are to be engaged by the highest in the land. Now, for God's sake! Put your clothes on!"

Sherlock's whole body clinched in irritation and impatience but he finally gathered up his sheet, keeping himself covered, and took his clothes into a nearby room to change. Lottie shook her head and sat back down in her seat and the others followed. Mycroft called for tea while they waited and Sherlock finally joined them again just after the tea arrived, returning to his seat next to her. Mycroft scooted to the edge of his seat and began pouring five cups of tea.

"I'll be mother." He said.

"And there is a whole childhood in a nutshell." Sherlock muttered. Mycroft eyed him with daggers and Lottie scolded him under her breath, nudging him with her elbow. Mycroft finished pouring the tea and sat back, settling in for their unofficial meeting. Lottie and John picked up their tea in the silence until Harry was the one to finally break the ice.

"My employer has a problem."

"A matter has come to light of an extremely delicate and potentially criminal nature and in this hour of need, dear brother, your name has arisen." Mycroft explained.

"Why?" Sherlock didn't seem to phased, "We have a police force of sorts, even a marginally secret service. Why come to me?"

"People do come to you for help, don't they, Mr. Holmes?" Harry asked.

"Not to date anyone with a navy."

"This is a matter of the highest security and therefore of trust." Mycroft said.

"You don't trust your own secret service?" John questioned.

"Naturally not. They all spy on people for money."

"I do think we have a timetable." Harry reminded Mycroft and he acknowledged him, setting his tea down and grabbing a suitcase from the floor beside him, setting it in his lap. He popped the locks to open it and pulled out a couple of files.

"What do you know about this woman?" he asked. Sherlock sat at the edge of his seat and took the photo from his brother, examining the woman depicted there.

"Nothing whatsoever."

"Then you should be paying more attention. She's been at the centre of two political scandals in the last year and recently ended the marriage of a prominent novelist, by having an affair with both participants separately."

Lottie creased her eyebrows in nonbelief, turned to lean over Sherlock's arm and he subconsciously leaned over so she could see better as he spoke, "You know I don't concern myself with trivia. Who is she?"

"Irene Adler, professionally known as The Woman."

"Professionally?" Lottie asked, feeling a little innocent, though she wasn't quite sure why.

"There are a lot of names for what she does, she prefers, 'dominatrix'."

Ah, that was why.

"Dominatrix." Sherlock repeated, letting the word sink in. Mycroft let a mischievous smile take over his features.

"Don't be alarmed." He said, "It's to do with sex."

"Sex doesn't alarm me." He immediately went on the defensive and Mycroft chuckled.

"How would you know?"

Lottie's eyes went wide, letting her mouth part in awe at Mycroft's bullying. She looked up at Sherlock and was a little surprised to see hurt in his eyes just before it disappeared and Mycroft continued to speak. Lottie let her eyes linger on Sherlock's features for just a moment longer before returning to the matter at hand.

"She provides, shall we say, recreational scolding for those who enjoy that sort of thing and are prepared to pay for it." Mycroft was saying as he pulled out another envelope of photos for Sherlock to see, "These are all from her website."

Sherlock took the file and glanced through them once, "And I assume this Adler woman has some compromising photographs?"

"You're very quick, Mr. Holmes." Harry said.

"Hardly a difficult deduction. Photographs of whom?"

Harry glanced at Mycroft and Lottie rolled her eyes, slumping back into her seat, "Let me guess, you can't tell us that either?"

Mycroft eyed her and she eyed him right back as Harry spoke, "We can tell you it's a person of significance to my employer."

"You can't tell us anything?" John said.

"I can tell you it's a young person." Mycroft looked at Sherlock, "A young female person."

Lottie tore her eyes from Mycroft to Sherlock, completely confused and Sherlock's lips turned up in a knowing smirk and Mycroft sighed. Sherlock knew exactly who was in these photographs.

"How many photographs?" he asked.

"A considerable number, apparently."

"Do Miss Adler and this young female person appear in these photographs together?"

"Yes, they do."

"And I assume in a number of compromising scenarios?"

"An imaginative range, we are assured."

"John, you might want to put that cup back in your saucer now."

Lottie looked over at John's gapping mouth as he set his cup down and shrunk back. She turned back to the conversation and Harry leaned his elbows on his knees, "Can you help us, Mr. Holmes?"

"How?" Sherlock said.

"Will you take the case?"

"What case? Pay her, now and in full. As Miss Adler remarks in her masthead, know when you are beaten." He reached for his coat, obviously done here and Lottie sat up straight, alert. She knew that once Sherlock was on the move it was either keep up or get left behind.

"She doesn't want anything." Mycroft explained further, "She got in touch, she informed us that the photographs existed, she indicated that she had no intention to use them to extort either money or favour."

Sherlock stopped and Lottie could see the gears in his mind turning, "Oh, a power play. A power play with the most powerful family in Britain. Now that is a dominatrix. Ooh, this is getting rather fun, isn't it?"

"Oh-oh." Lottie muttered, turning to John, who was eyeing Sherlock with a look of 'don't you dare' written all over his face, saying Sherlock's name with a knowing tone but it was too late. Sherlock was already too far in.

"Where is she?" Sherlock asked, standing and heading towards the exit.

"Uh, in London, currently." Mycroft answered, "She's staying…"

"Text me the details, I'll be in touch by the end of the day."

"Do you really think you'll have news by then?" Harry stood with the rest of the party and Sherlock turned to him.

"No, I think I'll have the photographs."

"One can only hope you're as good as you seem to think."

Lottie watched Sherlock's eyes scan Harry's frame from head to toe and she knew exactly what he was doing. She cleared her throat and he seemed to snap out of it, "I'll need some equipment, of course."

"Anything you require, I'll have it sent over." Mycroft promised.

"Can I have a box of matches?" Sherlock turned to Harry directly and he looked around, confused. Lottie shook her head.

"I'm sorry?"

"Or your cigarette lighter, either will do." he held out his hand and Harry shook his head.

"I don't smoke."

"No, I know you don't, but your employer does."

A moment of silence and John turned to Lottie, completely astounded, and she just shrugged in reply as Harry pulled a lighter from a pocket inside his jacket and handed it over.

"We have kept a lot of people successfully in the dark about his little fact, Mr. Holmes."

"I'm not the Commonwealth.

"And that's as modest as he gets." John said, cuing Lottie that it was their time to step in before Sherlock got all of them in trouble.

"Yep, come on, Show-off Sherly." Lottie linked arms with Sherlock and led him to the door.

"Pleasure to meet you." John followed the other two out the door, rolling his eyes and walking away in embarrassment when Sherlock shouted out a solid "Laters!" from down the hall.

They were escorted out of the Palace and into a cab to take them home and once they were in the car and headed toward Baker Street, John finally spoke up, "Okay, the smoking, how did you know?"

"The evidence was right under your nose, John, as ever you see but do not observe."

"Observe what?"

"The ashtray." He pulled the object from inside his coat pocket and turned it over in his hand for John and Lottie to see, a smirk plain on his face. Their mouths dropped open and they all burst into a fit of laughter, sliding into easy conversation until they reached their home. They paid the cabbie and jogged up the stairs into the boys' flat and Lottie dropped her things off just inside their front door and went into the kitchen for something to eat. Sherlock immediately went back into his room and John took a seat at his desk, but he was quickly distracted by the sound of Sherlock's clothes being flung around the room like rag dolls. He exchanged a look with Lottie and she poked her head around the corner from the kitchen.

"Sherlock, what're you doing?" she said.

"I'm going into battle, Lottie, I need the right armour." He called back, stepping into view in a crossing guard's uniform. He considered it for a second before yanking it back off and going back to his closet. Lottie shook her head with a smile and slipped back into the kitchen, only to be called back out into the living room by John.

"Lottie, your phone's buzzing." He said. She trotted over to her purse and dug it out just in time to answer it and head back into the kitchen just as Sherlock came out of his room, tying his scarf around his neck and slipping into his coat."

"Where're we going?" John asked, standing.

"To pay Miss Adler a visit."

Lottie came back out into the room and hung up her phone and John turned to her, "Coming with us, Lottie?"

"No, I'm meeting a friend down at the shops. Think you two will survive without me for a few hours?" she smiled.

"We'll try our hardest." He followed Sherlock out the door and she called after them.

"Don't get into too much trouble, you two!"

"You too, Miss Blakely." Sherlock threw over his shoulder, just as the front door shut behind them.


	7. If I Fall For You

Lottie walked down the streets of London at a leisurely pace. She knew John and Sherlock were probably still out working on that case of Mycroft's and they probably wouldn't be back until late so she was in no rush. She was actually kind of glad that she'd gone out with her friend. There were some things she really needed to get off her mind and chest and in any other circumstances she would've just talked with John, but something about this seemed different. She wasn't necessarily afraid of talking to John, far from it. She loved talking to John, he always had a solution to whatever was bothering her. But some girl time was nice. She ran over the conversation in her head a few times on the way back to the flat, really letting it sink in.

" _Lottie!"_

_She turned at her name and smiled at the petite, dark haired girl running toward her with her curls bouncing around her shoulders. They hugged and greeted each other with a light kiss on the cheek, holding each other at arm's length before taking a seat outside of the small café they'd decided to meet at._

" _Oh, it's so lovely to see you again, Bekah." Lottie set her purse down and leaned her elbows on the table._

" _I know, it's been way too long." Bekah smiled. The waiter came and took their coffee orders and the two of them took the time to get caught up on each other's latest gossip and newest secrets. Lottie wanted to know everything about Bekah's new life in France with her new husband, Austin and Bekah wanted to know if all the rumors she'd read about in the papers were true of her best friend practically living with Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson. There simply didn't seem to be enough time in the world. The waiter had brought out their coffees and they'd made it almost all the way to the bottom of the cup before the conversation seemed to die down._

" _So, I've heard another rumor I wanted to ask you about." Bekah said, stirring what was left of her latte._

" _No, John Watson is not gay." The two of them laughed at Lottie's remark and Bekah shook her head._

" _No, actually, it's about you and Sherlock."_

_Lottie furrowed her eyebrows, "What about us?"_

_Bekah pulled a newspaper from her bag and Lottie knew exactly which paper it was. The front cover had the infamous picture of her, John, and Sherlock with the funny had and his hand holding hers with John's hands around her waist. Lottie blinked and looked up at her friend with questioning eyes._

" _Everyone seems to think you and Sherlock are a couple."_

" _Oh."_

_That was all Lottie could think to say. She stared at the photo with so many thoughts running through her head. The way Sherlock had been acting since the incident with Moriarty, his little comments and glances and light touches to her skin. She'd noticed, for sure, that something in his mindset had changed but she had no idea what it was if it was anything at all. Bekah leaned her head down to look at Lottie's face, "Well?"_

_Lottie looked up, "Hmm?"_

" _Is it true? Are you dating Sherlock Holmes?"_

_She hesitated, "No. I'm not dating Sherlock Holmes."_

" _But you wish you were."_

" _What?" Lottie gave a joking smile but the smirk on her best friend's face was unmistakable. She could see right through any lie she told. It was almost like sitting right next to Sherlock himself and Lottie knew she didn't have a chance, with either Sherlock or Bekah. She sighed, contemplating her words and Bekah waited patiently, sipping the last of her coffee before Lottie spoke._

" _It's just, I feel like ever since Moriarty got a hold of me, he's been different."_

" _Different how?"_

" _Like, I don't know, extremely…protective? I don't' even know if that's how I want to describe it. We can't seem to get away from each other, and not in a bad way, but we always end up together, on and off cases." She paused, thinking of how Sherlock saved her life, of how he gave her his scarf around the paparazzi, how he held her hand and how he looked at her. A small smile slowly crept onto her face and Bekah smiled too._

" _What is your heart saying?" she said._

" _A lot." The two scoffed and Bekah reached out to grip Lottie's hand and the looked at each other with warm smiles._

" _Remember to never ignore the heart, Lottie."_

Lottie sighed as she turned the corner to Baker Street, her brain was going a million miles a minute in every direction and she was starting to think maybe a good talk with John wouldn't be so bad seeing as he was with herself and Sherlock almost every waking moment of their lives. She went to dig her keys out of her purse, working to unlock the door when she reached it. But just as she got the door open a familiar voice starting calling out her name frantically.

"Lottie!"

She turned at John's voice to find him struggling with Lestrade to get Sherlock out of the backseat of Lestrade's car. Lottie's heart dropped and her eyes went wide and she ran to help them get Sherlock inside.

"What happened?" she said once they got him in the front door.

"Irene Adler," John said, out of breath and still trying to get his flat mate up the stairs, "She gave him some sort of shot, but I don't know what it was."

It took them half an hour to get Sherlock up the stairs and into his own bed. He was speaking incoherently the entire time, barely conscious and shivering. Lottie's heart hurt, watching him drift off in front of them. Lestrade had his phone out, recording the famous detective and Lottie swatted his shoulder. He looked at her guiltily and put it away before she rolled her eyes and pulled the covers up to Sherlock's chin while the other two started back down the hall. She took one last look at Sherlock before shutting his bedroom door and joining John in the living room just as he was showing Lestrade out the door and he turned to her with tired eyes. But she shook her head.

"What, in the hell happened to him?" she said, "It looks like he's been using again, John!"

John sighed, scratching the back of his neck and gesturing to his and Sherlock's chairs, "Come on, I'll tell you what happened."

John sat her down and explained what had happened while she was out having coffee with Bekah and she sat there in complete shot. He told her how Irene Adler had come in completely naked merely to throw Sherlock off his game and how he found the safe in her drawing room and how the Americans came in and had a gun pointed at John's head, threatening to paint the walls with his blood if Sherlock didn't open the safe, which had been booby-trapped, killing one of the Americans. He explained that Irene had sent John off to check something and when he came back Sherlock was on the floor seizing with an empty syringe next to him. That's when he called Lestrade but by the time they'd gotten there Irene was already gone.

"So, we brought him back here." John muttered. Lottie sat without a reply to this new information. She was staring down at the floor, wringing her hands together as she always did when she was nervous, biting the inside of her cheek. The only sound that could be heard was the ticking of a clock and John and Lottie's breathing. After a few minutes, she sighed and stood, starting for the door to head downstairs. John sat up straight, confused.

"Where are you going?"

"To grab a book and some night clothes." She said, "Someone needs to be up to keep an eye on Sherlock and you need to sleep."

"But Lottie,"

She ignored him, jogging down the stairs all the way to her bed room in the basement. She changed quickly and grabbed at the book that was sitting on her mattress before heading back up to the boys' flat. It had only taken her ten minutes, but in that short amount of time John had nodded off in his chair. A soft smile grew on her lips and she shook her head, setting her book down on the table and crossing the room to help John to his feet.

"Come on, then, up you go," she whispered, helping him shuffle up the stairs into his own bedroom. Once she had him tucked into bed and she heard him snoring, she closed the door behind her and moseyed back down to their living room, taking her book in her hands and hugging it to her chest. In the silence of the flat she let her mind wander, still trying to soak up the information she'd been given. She sucked in a deep breath, holding it in for a few seconds and releasing it, taking a seat in Sherlock's chair, settling in for the night and opening to her bookmark, letting the paper clipping of her, John, and Sherlock fall into her lap and picking up where she last left off.

She was there reading for several hours, well into the night before she felt that she might fall asleep. She was trying her hardest to keep her eyes open but it was getting harder and harder as the night dragged on and she was just about to give in when she heard a faint noise coming from Sherlock's bedroom, sitting up in her chair.

"Lottie? John?"

She stood and threw her book back into the seat, padding down the hall as his voice called out her name again followed by a loud thump. She opened the door to his room to find him face down on the floor and she was quick to help him up.

"Sherlock, are you okay?" she got him to his feet and he leaned on her for support.

"How did I get here?" he mumbled, doing his best to stand on his own.

"You don't remember a whole lot, do you? You weren't making a lot of sense, but Lestrade and John brought you back here and we carried you up to your bed. But, um, I think I should warn you, though," she bit her lip and wrung her hands, "I'm pretty sure Lestrade filmed you on his phone."

He was breathing heavy and looking around frantically. It was making her nervous and she wasn't really sure what to do or say. He turned to her, "Where is she?"

Her eyes glanced from side to side before falling on his, "Where's who?"

"The woman, that woman."

"What woman? Sherlock, I,"

"The woman! The woman woman!" He was stumbling now and it took Lottie a moment to realize who he was talking about.

"Oh, um, Irene got away. John said no one saw her." Her voice lowered, "I'm sorry, Sherlock."

He looked out the window and Lottie was getting more and more confused by the second. It was almost as if he didn't believe her, like he was looking for her as if she was in this room. She took a cautious step toward him, "Sherlock, she wasn't here."

He turned to her and started to sway, on the verge of passing out again. Lottie was quick to wrap her arms around his waist to keep him up, leading him back to bed and covering him up with his sheet again.

"Come on, Sherlock, you can sleep this off."

He started mumbling, explaining to her that he was fine and she rolled her eyes, "I'll be just out here if you need me."

"Why would I need you?"

She took a deep breath, "No reason at all."

He didn't say anything else and she started for the door. She just about had it closed for the night when his voice caught her attention again, "Lottie?"

She peeked her head back in, "Hmm?"

"Will you…stay with me?" he muttered into his pillow. She was a little shocked by his request, her body unwilling to move for a few seconds, but she stepped back into the room and closed the door behind her. She stood, rubbing her palms together before sucking in a breath and crawling into bed beside Sherlock. By the time she was settling in and hugging the covers close to her frame, Sherlock was already fast asleep again. She could feel her heart beat in her chest and for the first time in a long time, she was fairly sure it wasn't her anxiety. Just as she was about to drift off a moan coming from Sherlock's coat pocket hanging on the back of his door sounding very much like a woman. Her eyes popped open and she leaned on her elbows, staring at the coat. She looked over her shoulder at the sleeping Sherlock and he didn't even flinch. She bit her lip, debating between her sense of privacy and her curiosity but curiosity got the better of her and she slipped out from her the covers, careful not to wake Sherlock.

She padded quietly across the few feet of space and pulled his phone from his coat pocket. There was no passcode, never had been, and she saw the notification of one new message. She tapped it with her finger but hesitated before reading it. She glanced at Sherlock, who still hadn't moved an inch and took in a deep breath. He would know she read it, he always knew. But she'd already gone this far. She tapped the message quickly and let her eyes follow the words on the screen. Her heart dropped at the sender's name.

_The Woman:_

_Till next time, Mr. Holmes._


	8. This Feels Like Falling In Love

The next morning, Sherlock woke with a start and sat up in his bed. The rare London sun was shining through the window and he squeezed his eyes shut, blinking a few times to try and clear the fog from his brain. He rubbed his eyes and face and examined his surroundings, not remembering much from the night before, and he hated it. He vaguely remembered being carried into the flat, just after Irene Adler attacked him with that syringe. He searched around for his phone and in doing so finally noticed Lottie still sound asleep next to him and he suddenly remembered in full talking to her in the middle of the night, and asking her to stay with him. How could he forget? No matter how many drugs he was injected with, he would remember that. His face softened and his heart raced, something he was not used to and definitely not information he knew what to do with. He thought often about the night in the pool, seeing her strapped with bombs, watching Moriarty whisper in her ear, hearing the confidence of his victory in his voice as her name slipped from his lips, and feeling the anger that boiled in his chest. But now, seeing her here, next to him, it was comforting, and he was surprised how much he liked the feeling, the feeling of her next to him. He shook his head, pushing all of those feeling to the back of his mind palace where he'd created almost a whole floor dedicated to this redhead. It was the only way he could concentrate on anything. He had cases to solve yet there she was, popping up all over her mind palace, distracting him in every which way. So he built a whole floor for her, storing as much information as he dared. He examined her sleeping form and almost didn't notice his phone in her hand, her fingers lightly gripping the device. He gently slid out from her fingers, careful not to wake her. Once he was sure she hadn't woken, he sat and scrolled through his messages. He furrowed his eyebrows at one message that had already been read from Irene Adler. He glanced down at the sleeping Lottie and he knew that she had read it. He took a moment to collect himself before getting out of bed and slipping into his dressing robe, quietly heading out into the living room where John and Mrs. Hudson were already up and about. And, to his dismay, Mycroft was there, loitering in the middle of the room. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Good morning." John smiled his knowing smile at Sherlock from his seat at the desk. Sherlock replied with a short 'morning' before taking a cup of coffee Mrs. Hudson had made before sitting down with John to read the paper. Mycroft was looking at him expectantly and as hard as he was trying to ignore him, Sherlock glanced at him over the paper.

"What're you looking at?"

"You know why I'm here." Mycroft said.

"The photographs are perfectly safe."

"In the hands of a fugitive sex worker?"

"She's not interested in blackmail. She wants…protection, for some reason. I take it you've stood down the police investigation into the shooting at her house?"

"How can we do anything while she has the photographs? Our hands are tied."

"She'd applaud your choice of words. You see how this works, that camera-phone is her get-out-of-jail-free card. You have to leave her alone. Treat her like royalty, Mycroft."

"Though not the way she treats royalty." John put in and Sherlock chuckled. A woman's moan filled the room and they all looked around curiously.

"What was that?" John asked.

Sherlock looked only slightly ashamed, "Text."

He folded up the paper and stood to go pick up his phone where he'd left it on the kitchen table.

"But what was that noise?"

Sherlock ignored him, reading the text and sliding his phone into his pocket, "Did you know there were other people after her, too, Mycroft, before you sent John and I in there? CIA trained killers, I think excellent guess." He sat back down at the table, going back to his paper.

"Yeah, thanks for that, Mycroft." John said.

"It's a disgrace, sending your little brother into danger like that." Mrs. Hudson brought out a plate of food and set it in front of Sherlock, "Family is all we have in the end, Mycroft Holmes!"

"Oh, shut up, Mrs. Hudson!" Mycroft whined, only to be met with two very angry flat mates.

"Mycroft!" John and Sherlock scolded him and stared him down in a tense silence until he apologized.

"Though do, in fact, shut up." Sherlock said once Mycroft had made his apologies.

"Leave Mrs. Hudson alone, Sherlock."

They all looked up at the new voice to see Lottie standing in the hall, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hand and her hair sitting on top of her head in a messy bun. John furrowed his brow, glancing between her and Sherlock.

"Lottie, what're you doing up here?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"I, uh," she glanced at Sherlock and John followed her gaze. Sherlock wasn't blinking, watching Lottie before sucking in a deep breath.

"I asked her to stay with me." He said as if it was nothing.

"Sorry?" John said.

"I woke up in the middle of the night and she came to check on me but I feared whatever Miss Alder gave me might make me ill, so I needed someone there with me."

There was a moment of silence and Sherlock locked eyes with Lottie. She didn't know what to think. She'd never wanted so much to know what was going on in that genius brain of his. The woman's moan broke the silence and Sherlock closed his eyes.

"Oh, it's a bit rude, that noise, isn't it?" Mrs. Hudson broke the tension and Lottie thinned her lips, saying nothing and walking into the kitchen for breakfast and tea. Sherlock picked up his phone and read the message, ignoring this one as well.

"As for Miss Adler, there nothing you can do and nothing she will do, as far as I can see."

"I can put maximum surveillance on her." Mycroft suggested.

"Why bother? You can follow her on Twitter. I believe her username is TheWhipHand."

"Yes, most amusing." His phone sounded and he excused himself to take the call just as Lottie took a seat across from Sherlock with her plate.

"Why does you phone make that noise?" John said. Sherlock went from eyeing his brother to glance at Lottie. She looked away and took a bite of her food.

"What noise?" Sherlock replied.

"That noise, the one it just made."

"It's a text alert, means I've got a text."

"Hmm." John didn't seem too convinced, "Your texts don't' usually make that noise."

"Well, somebody got hold of the phone and apparently as a joke, personalized their text alert noise."

"Hmm, so every time they text you…"

As if on cue, he got another text and the entire room looked at him expectantly.

"It would seem so." He picked it up and read the message.

"Could you turn that phone down a bit?" Mrs. Hudson said.

"See, I'm wondering who could have got hold of your phone, because it would have been in your coat, wouldn't it?" John pried. Sherlock lifted the paper to hide his face.

"I'll leave you to your deductions."

Lottie chuckled at John's triumphant smile, "I'm not stupid, you know."

"Where do you get that idea?"

"Bond Air is go, that's decided. Check with the Coventry lot. Talk later." Mycroft came back into the room and Sherlock eyed him suspiciously. Lottie watched him, curious about his thoughts, but she had the feeling he'd soon let them be known. And she was right, he stood and walked around to stand right up to Mycroft.

"What else does she have?"

Mycroft gave a questioning look and Sherlock rolled her eyes, "Irene Adler. The Americans wouldn't be interested in her for a couple of compromising photographs, there's more. Much more. Something big's coming, isn't it?"

"Irene Adler is no longer any concern of yours. From now on, you will stay out of this."

"Oh, will I?"

"Yes, Sherlock. You will."

John and Lottie sat glancing between the two in the tense silence before Sherlock stepped away from his brother. Lottie would never admit it, but she was almost glad Mycroft was taking them off the case. She wasn't sure how she felt about this Irene woman, but she definitely didn't trust her. And she seemed to be getting under Sherlock's skin, which made her nervous.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a long and arduous apology to make to a very old friend."

"Do give her my love." Sherlock picked up his violin and began to play God Save the Queen as Mycroft rolled his eyes and let himself out, leaving the rest of them to their morning routines.


	9. With Kisses on Cheeks

Months passed and John, Lottie, and Sherlock continued to solve cases and make front page news almost every week, and with every case they solved John would blog about it on his website. There was no sign of Irene anywhere, save for the monstrous amount of text messages that she sent to Sherlock on an almost daily basis and there was no mistaking them, not when she'd set that disrespectful alert tone for when she texted him. It was unsettling, but Lottie would never tell Sherlock. Bekah's words continued to burn a permanent imprint in her brain and she was really considering confiding in John. With Bekah back in France, Lottie and John grew to be close friends, which was to be expected. When you had to spend all day with no one else but each other and Sherlock Holmes, you really didn't have a choice. But even if she did tell John what was on her mind and heart, it wouldn't clear up her confusion about the sleuth's thoughts, and there was no one on this planet that would be able to help her with that one. It seemed the more Irene texted him, the more he attached himself to Lottie, but it was subtle. Almost unnoticeable. He was never too far from her, but she could hardly talk. It wasn't too often that she was away from him. Most grew accustomed to it without really prying the situation. No one really actually knew what was or had gone on between Sherlock and Irene Adler, so this connection with Lottie was almost overlooked. Almost.

For now, it was Christmas, and Lottie found herself perched on the arm of Sherlock's chair, her red hair tamed into soft curls and her hands covered by the sleeves of her cross knit sweater, a white rounded collar laying around her neck. Black stockings were keeping her legs warm under her skirt while she listened to Sherlock play 'We Wish You a Merry Christmas' on his violin. When he finished, everyone sung his praises and he gave a little bow in return.

"That was lovely, Sherlock." Lottie smiled.

"I wish he could've worn the antlers." Mrs. Hudson giggled from the seat of Sherlock's chair and Lottie scrunched up her nose in amusement as John brought the two ladies more champagne. Sherlock didn't seem too amused.

"Some things are best left to the imagination, Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock said. John's new girlfriend brought over a tray of finger foods, but Lottie shook her head politely, Sherlock as well, "Oh, no thank you, Sarah."

"Sherlock, no," Lottie scolded under her breath and he looked down at her with confused eyes. The woman went tense.

"Er, no, no, no, no, no, he's not good with names." John put a hand on her waist as she set the tray of food down, eyeing Sherlock expectantly.

"No, no, no, I can get this." Sherlock said, "No, Sarah was the doctor and then there was the one with the spots and then the one with the nose and then…who was the one after the boring teacher?"

Lottie dropped her face into her hands and the girl crossed her arms, "Nobody."

"Jeanette! Ah, process of elimination."

John led Jeanette away before she went at Sherlock's throat and all Lottie could do was shake her head and laugh. Sherlock looked down at her with questioning eyes and she glanced up at him through her eyelashes, patting his forearm, "What are we going to do with you?"

"I think the better question is what would you do without me?"

He was quite serious and Lottie just smiled. They both turned at a new voice at the door, Molly greeting everyone with her hands full of gift bags and Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Oh, dear Lord."

Lottie looked back at him confused. He seemed aggravated beyond belief and she furrowed her eyebrows at him, "It's just Molly."

He gave her a look and she slapped his arm before going to help Molly with her bags, greeting her with a kiss on the cheek. They'd only met a few times, but they got on well enough. Lottie always got the feeling that something was off when they spoke, but they never made a scene out of it. Lottie could never figure out what she had done to make Molly look at her that way but she was never mean about it. There just always seemed to be a longing in her eyes that Lottie just couldn't place.

Everyone called out their hello's to the newcomer and Sherlock set his violin down, taking a seat at John's computer in the middle of the room, muttering to himself, "Everybody saying hello to each other, how wonderful!"

Lottie could feel the sarcasm from across the room and she simply ignored him, hugging Molly and trying to make her feel as at home as possible. She wanted to be friends with this girl, not that they weren't, but she wanted to know why she was always so off put by her presence. She set the bags Molly had brought down on John's side table while he took her coat and everyone in the room let out a sound of surprise. Lottie turned to see Molly dressed in a beautiful black formfitting dress with rhinestones on the bust and her hair done in soft curls and a Christmas bow pinned just above her right ear. She looked stunning and slightly embarrassed that she was getting so much attention.

"So we're having a Christmas drinkies, then?" she said.

"No stopping them, apparently." Sherlock said, bringing Lottie out of her daze, "Yeah, would you like one?"

Molly nodded with a smile and Lottie trotted into the kitchen to grab her a glass. She could hear Mrs. Hudson telling Molly that this was the one day of the year where the boys had to be nice to her and it made her smile as she poured the drink. The room was filled with laugher and it in turn filled Lottie's heart with joy. When she'd moved to London she'd only half-expected to get a well-paying job, let alone any friends, and here she was, surrounded by people who loved her and whom she loved in return. They were like her second family and she couldn't be happier. Her real family had wanted her to come back home to Yorkshire for Christmas but, as much as she wanted to, she was worried about Sherlock, as usual. He'd told her time and time again not to worry about her, but he knew that she wouldn't. She was always worried about him and John, whether she was with them or not. The corners of her mouth turned up in a smile when she heard Sherlock telling John that the counter on his blog was broken and John's immediate reply was a sarcastic comment about how Christmas was cancelled. Sherlock went on to complain about the picture John had posted of him with that hat that he hated. Lottie finished in the kitchen and she took the drink over to where Molly was standing talking to Lestrade, handing her the glass. She thanked her.

"How's the hip?" Molly asked Mrs. Hudson.

"Oh, it's atrocious, but thanks for asking." She replied.

"I've seen much worse, but then I do post-mortems."

The room went silent and Molly knew she'd made a mistake. Sherlock called out to her across the room to not make jokes and she apologized to Mrs. Hudson, moving on to Lestrade, "I wasn't expecting to see you. I thought you were going to be in Dorset for Christmas?"

"That's first thing in the morning, me and the wife, we're back together, it's all sorted."

"No, she's sleeping with a PE teacher." Sherlock muttered, his eyes glued to John's computer screen.

"Of course she is." Lottie muttered, crossing her arms and taking a deep breath. She picked up her glass of wine and took a swig.

"And John, I hear you're off to your sister's, is that right?" Molly continued.

"Yeah." He replied from the arm of his chair behind Jeanette.

"Sherlock was complaining." Sherlock eyed her and she looked away in shame, "Saying."

"First time ever, she's cleaned-up her act, she's off the booze."

"Nope." Came Sherlock's stuff comment.

"Shut up, Sherlock."

"Of course she isn't." Lottie cleared her throat, sipping at her wine again. This was definitely going to be a long night. But what happened next was nothing Lottie ever expected.

"I see you've got a new boyfriend, Molly, and you're serious about him." Sherlock said.

"Sorry, what?" Molly looked just as confused as everyone else in the room.

"If fact, you're seeing him this very night and giving him a gift."

"Uh-oh." Lottie sipped more wine and the entire room seemed to jump up and come to Molly's rescue with comments like 'take a day off' and 'shut up and have a drink' to Sherlock but it was too late. He was already too deep in and ignoring all of their hints for him to back off. But really, they all should've known that wasn't going to work.

"Oh, come on, surely you've all seen the present at the top of the bag." Sherlock continued, standing from his seat to approach the poor girl, "Perfectly wrapped with a bow. All the others are slapdash at best. It's for someone special, then."

Molly looked terrified as he picked up the gift in question and began turning it in his hands. Lottie stood watching next to her with nothing to do but watch this scene unfold.

"Sherlock." She warned him, but he ignored her just like he ignored everyone else.

"The shade of red echoes her lipstick, either an unconscious association or one that she's deliberately trying to encourage. Either way, Miss Hooper has love on her mind. The fact that she's serious about him is clear from the fact she's giving him a gift at all. That always suggest long-term hopes, however forlorn, and that she's seeing him tonight is evident from her make-up and what she's wearing. Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts…"

The room was uncomfortably quiet and Molly was looking anywhere but Sherlock's face as he opened up the name card. Lottie was confused only a moment before she realized what everyone else already knew: it was Sherlock's name written on that card. Her eyes went wide and it suddenly all came together. Molly was in love with Sherlock and that's why she always gave Lottie those looks. Lottie was practically living with the man and spending almost every waking moment with him. She suddenly felt a pain in her chest, guilt for not seeing it before and putting Molly through something like that. She looked down at the floor, trying to gather her thoughts.

"You always say such horrible things." Molly muttered after a moment, "Every time. Always."

Lottie watched Sherlock's feet and he took a step away as if he was making a move to leave the room and her head shot up to stop him but she was shocked to find his eyes one her. Her blood rushed to her cheeks, looking away and she rubbed her arms as if she was cold, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable and extremely guilty. Sherlock swallowed and tore his eyes away from Lottie to look at Molly.

"I am sorry. Forgive me." He leaned in to give her a kiss on the cheek. Lottie watched him keep his eyes on her and she had no idea what to think. Again she was plagued with the irritating feeling of wanting to know what on earth was going through his mind, but she said nothing.

"Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper." He muttered in her ear. He pulled away and just as he did, his phone sounded with a text from Irene Adler with that awful text alert noise. Lottie's heart dropped into her stomach as Molly began to panic.

"Oh, no! That wasn't – I didn't…!"

Sherlock glanced away, his eyes falling on Lottie and he could see the pain in her eyes, "No, it was me."

Everyone cried out in shock and he rolled his eyes, "My phone!"

"Fifty-seven?" John said.

"Sorry, what?" Sherlock tried to ignore him, reading the new message.

"Fifty-seven of those texts, the ones I've heard."

"Fifty-eight, then." Lottie muttered under her breath, rubbing her arm. Sherlock glanced at her before turning to the fire place, muttering how he was thrilled that John had been counting, a mix of sarcasm and disinterest in his voice. He reached around the human skull that had been decorated with a Santa hat for the holiday sitting on the mantel and pulled out a small gift, wrapped in red satin and a black rope tied around it. He hesitated before excusing himself to his bedroom. Everyone watched him go and John called after him but he merely repeated his excuse in a more stern tone. The room was silent and Molly took a nervous gulp of her wine to calm herself down. Lottie glanced over at her and absentmindedly rubbed her arms, unsure what to say or do. Most everyone went back to their own conversations and Lottie backed away from Molly, John watched her with interest. She seemed a bit lost and he furrowed his eyebrows, walking over to her without anyone really noticing. She wasn't watching him and she jumped when he put a hand on her arm.

"You all right?" he whispered, not wanting to gather attention to them. She nodded frantically and too soon to really be the truth.

"I'm gonna…go check on Sherlock." She strode away from him and down the hall, following Sherlock's footsteps and John watched her go. He knew something was going on in that little brain of hers but he couldn't quite pinpoint it. He sighed and returned to his conversation with Jeanette and Mrs. Hudson, but back in Sherlock's room Sherlock was perched at the edge of his bed with his phone to his ear. Lottie poked her head inside but he didn't acknowledge her.

"I think you're going to find Irene Adler tonight." He was saying. Lottie stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind her as he spoke again, "No, I mean you're going to find her dead."

He hung up the phone and immediately stood, taken slightly aback at Lottie's presence. She apologized and they stood there in silence for longer than she really liked. She hadn't felt this awkward with Sherlock since the very first day they met, and never a day after that, until now. She wasn't really sure what to say, so she didn't say anything at all. His eyes were scanning her frame and she knew he was deducing her state of being but she didn't care. Maybe whatever it was Sherlock looked for would say everything that she was having such a hard time with. He sucked in a breath.

"I would ask what you're doing here,"

"But you already know." She smiled, "I know."

He hesitated, but he smiled back, looking down at the ground for a split second. When he looked back at her he faltered. Her smile didn't quite reach as far as it normally did. He didn't like it.

"You don't have to worry about me."

"I know I don't."

"But you do."

Her smiled thinned and Sherlock noticed the sparkle in her eye, the one that showed just how much she cared and she started to wring her hands together just like she always did, stretching her palms downward and biting the inside of her cheek, "Does this mean you're leaving?"

Sherlock slid a hand into his pocket and looked her straight in the eyes, but said nothing. She sighed with a scoff, "That was a stupid question."

In a heartbeat, Sherlock reached out for her hand, holding her waist with his other hand. She looked up at him, their faces inches apart, searching his eyes. They were so serious but there was a hint of vulnerability she'd never seen before. Her breath caught and her heart raced and in such close contact, she swore she could feel his heart beating just as fast. He leaned down to whisper in her ear, sending shivers down her spine.

"Merry Christmas, Charlotte."

He kissed her temple, letting his lips linger there for longer than was to be expected before closing her fingers around something he'd placed in her palm and stepping around her and out the door. Lottie stood there shock still for almost half a minute, processing Sherlock's actions. She lifted her hand and looked down at her fingers, breathing out in awe at the beautiful necklace that was intertwined there. A small silver rectangle was rung with a small silver chain with a small red gem set in the middle. There was a latch on the side and she gently pulled it open, genuinely surprised to find the photo that they all loved to hate of her, John, and Sherlock stuck inside. She chuckled, running her fingers over the locket and turning it over when she felt an indention on the back. Her heart skipped a beat at the words inscribed on the back.

_Stay with me._

_-SH_

"Sherlock," his name left her lips in a breathy whisper and she closed her fingers around the locket. Sherlock's way of saying thank you preserved in this way made her heart feel heavy as she made her way down the hall to join the party again. She heard the front door close just as she rounded the corner and she held tight to the necklace, looking for more people in an almost empty room. Sherlock, Molly, Lestrade, they were all gone and John was on the phone, Mrs. Hudson watching him worriedly. Jeanette was the only other one there, looking very angry at John. Lottie ignored her.

"Okay, keep us posted." John hung up the phone and turned to Mrs. Hudson, "Mycroft thinks it's a danger night. Go ahead and search his room. I'll check the usual places."

Mrs. Hudson scurried down the hall and Lottie watched her go, her reactions slow. What on earth was going on? She glanced around as John passed her, on his way to search the kitchen, but he stopped when he saw her face, a mixture of confusion and bliss and hurt and so many other things that was making her stand there in a daze. He put a hand on her shoulder, "Lottie? You all right?"

"Huh?" she looked at him, "What do you mean?"

He lifted her chin with his knuckles and examined her face, "You look flustered. Did something happen? Did Sherlock say something to you?"

She hesitated, moving the locket out of his sight. She figured he already knew about it, and she wanted so much to finally sit down and spill her heart to him, but she wanted to figure some things out for herself first. "Um, no, nothing happened."

He eyed her a second, letting his hand fall back at his side, "Mycroft thinks he's using again. Have a look around for the usual places."

He continued into the kitchen and Lottie took a deep breath, turning to look around the living room. She saw Jeanette roll her eyes at her and she knew good and well that she and John would not last, so she ignored her, reluctantly placing the necklace in the draw of the side table next to the couch, closing it tight before starting in on looking for any of Sherlock's secret stash of whatever it was he was he could get his hands on. The entire twenty minutes of searching all she could think about was the butterflies she felt when Sherlock held her frame. When she felt she finally had looked in every nook and cranny of the living room John returned from elsewhere in the flat, his phone ringing from his trouser pocket and he answered it with a swift hello, taking in the information coming from the person at the other end.

"No." he finally said, "Did he take the cigarette?" He muttered a swear under his breath and he put the phone down, looking between Lottie and Mrs. Hudson, "He's coming, ten minutes."

"There's nothing in the bedroom." Mrs. Hudson said. They looked at Lottie but she simply shook her head. John put the phone back to his ear.

"Well, it looks like he's clean. We've tried all the usual places. Are you sure tonight's a danger night?"

Lottie listened and it sounded like Mycroft on the other end. John sighed, "I've got plans…Mycroft…"

The line disconnected and John let out a frustrated breath, rubbing his face and turning to Jeanette, "I am really sorry."

"I'll stay with him." Lottie suddenly said and they all looked at her.

"Lottie, are you sure?" John looked guilty but she held up her hands and shook her head.

"Go. I've got this."

He smiled at her and she returned the favor. They hugged and he whispered a merry Christmas in her ear before releasing her. She nodded her head towards the door and five minutes later he was ushering a very aggravated Jeanette out the door with his arm around her waist. Lottie watched them from the window of the boys' living room with a warm smile. Mrs. Hudson came to join her, a cup of warm peppermint tea placed on a saucer in her hands. Lottie turned to her with a smile.

"Merry Christmas, Lottie." She handed her the tea and Lottie took it.

"Merry Christmas, Mrs. Hudson."

She placed an arm on her shoulder and let it linger there for a moment before going down to her own flat. Lottie watched her go, her heart warm with love for the old woman that was always looking out for them. She bit her lip and ran her fingers through her hair before moving across the room to pull the necklace back out of the drawer, examining the locket, still with a complete sense of awe. She looked up and made her way over to the mirror above the mantel place and clasped it around her neck, smiling at how perfectly it rested on her chest, or would have if she hadn't been wearing that big, warm sweater. She caressed it with her fingers and let out a deep breath. Sherlock would be back soon. She let her legs give weigh and plopped down into his chair, sitting so her feet hung over the arm of the chair near the fireplace that was still emitting a little bit of a flame from the party. Her head rested on the back of the chair, letting her mind wander to wherever it wanted to go and, without intentionally meaning to, she fell asleep to whatever scent Sherlock left on his chair.

* * *

The moment Sherlock walked into 221 Baker Street he knew they had searched through his things. He rolled his eyes just inside the door, ready to head upstairs and tell John off if he messed up his sock index again. How many times did he have to tell them that he was doing well? He took the steps one at a time, muttering to himself but when he reached the top he was surprised to find the place quiet. He thought for a moment everyone had gone home and that John was already asleep but he spotted a familiar redhead fast asleep in his chair. He took a moment to cross the room, standing next to her and examining her features, much like he had done when he asked her to stay all those months ago. He was remembering how he felt when he woke to her sleeping form and how much he craved it ever since. He pushed some of her hair out of her face and the necklace gleamed in the firelight, a hint of a smile gracing his lips. She stirred in her sleep and he frowned. She looked uncomfortable and sleeping in that chair would be uncomfortable, making him think that she hadn't actually meant to fall asleep there. He should send her to bed but something pulled at his heartstrings again and his selfishness made itself present. He wanted her here, beside him, so instead of waking her, he gently slid his arms under her knees and back to lift her up off the chair. She rolled into his embrace instinctively and he carried her back to his room, lying her down on the sheets and pulling the blanket up to her shoulder before changing into his own sleeping clothes and crawling into bed beside her. Her back was to him but he was content to watch her even breathing, her presence alone was comforting for reasons Sherlock was still racking his brain to find the answers to. Eventually, watching her form rise and fall with her breaths had him calm enough to sleep in minutes.


	10. Would You Fall, Too?

New Year's Eve Lottie work in her own bed, tucked away under several blankets. She stretched and stared at the ceiling, thinking about how the past couple of days had been. No one had said a word when she came out of Sherlock's bedroom once again and she hoped it stayed that way. Mostly because if anyone asked she wouldn't have an answer, even after all this time. She had no idea what was going on in Sherlock's brain. And Sherlock. All she did anymore was worry about him. Ever since he'd identified Irene's dead body he didn't eat, he didn't sleep, and the music he'd been composing, as beautiful as it was, it had such a sad tone. She tried her hardest to stay with him the past week, hoping that whatever was going on in his brain that made him relax more when she was around was helping him.

She sighed and got out of bed, preparing herself for the day. Once she was dressed and her hair was tamed she went to the kitchen for a tea before she was to go up and check on Sherlock. With her tea fixed in her favorite mug, she started up the stairs from her basement flat to the main floor. She opened the door and stopped onto the hardwood floor with her petite bare feet. She sipped her tea and turned towards the second set of stairs to the boys flat, jumping when Mrs. Hudson seemed to appear out of nowhere. Lottie laughed.

"Morning, Mrs. Hudson." She smiled, warming her hands with her teacup.

"Morning, Lottie. Didn't mean to give you a fright." She replied, setting her small box of cleaning supplies down in front of her, "If you're heading up to the boys' flat, they told me to tell you that they'd gone out. Said they'd be back later."

Lottie creased her eyebrows, "Where'd they go?"

"Dunno. Left separately."

"Oh, alright." That was odd, "I'll just go up and grab my laptop. Left it in their flat."

"Okay, dearie."

Lottie smiled and rested her hand on the rail to go up the steps, but Mrs. Hudson's words stopped her again, "You know, as long as I've known those boys, I have never seen them take to someone like they have with you. Especially Sherlock."

Mrs. Hudson gave her a knowing smile and stepped back into her own flat. Lottie shook her head and started back up the steps again. She was halfway up when a loud crash stopped her in her tracks. Her heart dropped into her stomach and she turned towards Mrs. Hudson's flat where the sound had come from. She took a couple steps down the stairs with caution, "Mrs. Hudson?"

No reply.

Her breathing quickened and she trotted down the stairs in fear that Mrs. Hudson had been hurt, but she clung to the banister when she could hear commotion coming from the other side of the door. She sucked in a breath, wishing that one of the boys were here and calling out to her landlady again. The noise stopped and Lottie panicked, unsure of what to do. She glanced around, knowing fully well that there was nobody else here but searching for someone anyway. She approached the door and hesitated before rapping at the wood with the heel of her hand. Nothing happened but she could still here footsteps, and it sounded like there was more than one person in there. Fear bubbled up in her throat for Mrs. Hudson. And she started pounding on the door but it wouldn't budge. She turned and started for her flat to grab her phone and call 911 but as soon as she turned, the door creaked open, slowly and seemingly on purpose. She turned back with terrified tears in her eyes, hoping with all her might that her landlady was standing there, apologizing for scaring her and explain that she had merely dropped a pot, but Lottie dropped her tea when her eyes landed Mrs. Hudson's doorframe.

It was not Mrs. Hudson who stepped out of her flat.

* * *

Sherlock's mind was fogged as he made his way down the streets of London back towards Baker Street. He had made a most untimely discovery while he was out and he was busy trying to sort out this new information into his mind palace when he got to the flat. Pulling his keys from his pocket he reached out to unlock the door but he stopped in his tracks and the wheels that were turning in his brain working a thousand miles a minute immediately stopped and zeroed in on one thing: someone had broken into the home that he shared with the people he held most dear, and two of them were still in there. The lock was busted and he creased his eyebrows, placing his hand on the window to push the door open to step inside. His eyes scanned the scene and there were several things to note: cleaning supplies on the floor, spilled tea on the floor, and Mrs. Hudson's door was cracked open. He took quick long strides to cross the floor into the landlady's flat, pushing the door open slowly. There was anger is his eyes as they landed on an unconscious Mrs. Hudson lying on the floor, propped up on the cabinets. He knelt down next to her and checked her vitals. She was breathing and her pulse was normal and she seemed completely intact save for the large gash on her forehead and a few cuts and bruises. Her eyes fluttered open at his touch and she began to look a panicked but he put a hand on her shoulder to calm her down.

"You're all right. It's just me. What happened?"

"Oh, those men, they must have snuck in when I went out the back." She said, on the verge of tears, "Where's Lottie?"

Sherlock's heart stopped, searching Mrs. Hudson's eyes, "What do you mean?"

"She must've heard me drop my kettle when they grabbed me. I could hear her outside the door and they knocked me out."

Sherlock sucked in a deep breath, placing both hands on Mrs. Hudson's shoulders, "Mrs. Hudson, I need you to stay here. Do you hear me?"

She nodded and he stood, helping Mrs. Hudson to her feet and getting her into a chair before stepping out of the flat and closing the door behind him. He picked up a can of cleaning and stuck it inside his coat pocket before examining the scene a little closer, spotting Lottie's favorite teacup, or rather parts of it, scattered by the stairs and just outside the open door to her flat, as if it had been dropped and kicked around. The spilled tea left sticky footprints recklessly leading over towards her flat and up the stairs. He stepped around the banister and his anger boiled at the sight of scuff marks on the lower part of the walls going up the steps. He bent down and ran his hands along the chips in the wallpaper where Lottie had dug her nails into the wall in an attempt to stop her kidnappers. He could practically see these men dragging her up the stairs with her kicking and screaming, his body going rigid with the anger that boiled inside him. His teeth clenched together and in his mind he could hear Lottie's terrified voice calling out his name, pushing him up the stairs and leaving a trail of hot determination in his wake. When he reached the top of the stairs, he stood tall, trying his hardest to seem unfazed by the situation in knowing good and well that these men were just inside his living room. He pushed the door open, slowly and deliberately, and stepped inside. Lottie was seated in a chair, the one usually reserved for clients, facing him. She wasn't tied up or restrained in anyway save for the handgun that was pointed at her head by her kidnapper. She sat with one arm holding her ribcage and Sherlock knew something was wrong. Two more men were standing guard around them and Lottie's eyes locked on Sherlock's and the pain and longing that she conveyed nearly killed him.

"Sherlock." She had been holding her breath and when she spoke, releasing the air in her lungs, she began to shake. He could tell she was trying her hardest to be good. To not cry, to keep quiet, to be brave, and for a second Sherlock was filled with a strange sense of pride. Silent tears ran down her cheeks as the gunman spoke, his American accent ringing out into the room.

"I believe you have something that we want, Mrs. Holmes."

"Then why don't you ask for it?" Sherlock approached Lottie, holding back his emotions for the sake of the situation at hand and the American scoffed.

"Oh, I've been asking this one, she doesn't seem to know anything. But you know what I'm asking for, don't you, Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock bent down and reached out for Lottie's hand and she glanced down at his outstretched palm and placed her hand in his. He held it and pulled back the sleeve of her sweater with his other hand, examining the deep purple bruises that were forming on her wrists. He glanced at the rest of her frame, taking note of the rip on the shoulder of her sweater to reveal scratches that came from her attempt to escape and the small gash on her right cheek bone that matched the blood on the American's ring. He wasn't hard to tell who had done most of this damage and Sherlock immediately pinpointed the man's fatal pressure points. This man would be lucky to survive what Sherlock was about to put him through.

"I believe I do." he locked eyes with Lottie, letting their hands linger as long as possible as he took a few steps back, "First get rid of your boys."

"Why?" the American growled.

"I dislike being outnumbered; it makes for too much stupid in the room."

The man contemplated his choices before sending his men out of the room, "Go to the car."

"Then get into the car and drive away. Don't try to trick me, you know who I am, it doesn't work."

The two men left and the American moved his gun from Lottie's temple to aim it at Sherlock. He rolled his eyes.

"Next, you can stop pointing that gun at me."

"So you can point a gun at me?" he accused. Sherlock stepped back with open arms.

"I'm unarmed."

"Mind if I check?"

"Oh, I insist."

Lottie knew that look and she stayed as still as possible as the American stepped around her, keeping his aim on Sherlock. He checked his coat and started scooting around him to check for any weapons he might be concealing. Sherlock cooperated for a second or two before rolling his eyes and pulling out his can of cleaner, spraying it in the American's eyes and head-butting him. The man fell back onto the coffee table and Sherlock muttered an insult before slamming the can onto the desk at his right. His attention was immediately brought back to Lottie and he slid to his knee in front of her, holding her face gently in his hands. She was covering her mouth to try and conceal the silent sobs that escaped her lips and holding her rib cage with her other arm. He shushed her, brushing her tears away with his thumbs.

"You're all right now, you're all right."

"Mrs. Hudson." She breathed.

"She's fine. She's downstairs. You have to breathe, Charlotte."

"It hurts to breathe."

He furrowed his eyebrows, moving her hand so he could lift her shirt to examine the large bruise that was forming on her ribcage. It was strangely shaped like a foot and rage flooded his veins once again. He turned back to the American, grabbing another chair to tie him to and Lottie took the time to try and collect herself. Once the man was restrained to the chair a few feet from her and his mouth was taped shut, she tried to stand but Sherlock was there to sweep her up and move her to the couch. She gripped his shoulders in pain until she was set on the cushions.

"John will need to look at you." he grabbed a piece of paper, the American's gun hanging off his fingers as he scribbled something down and headed down the steps, returning quickly with a not so damaged Mrs. Hudson.

"Lottie!" she exclaimed and Lottie called out to her. The two of them sat huddled on the couch while Sherlock took the time to beat some answers out of the American, literally. By the time Sherlock was done with him, he was barely conscious with blood pouring of out his nose and more than just a few cuts from the butt of his own gun. Sherlock took a seat; keeping the gun aimed at the American and getting Lestrade on the phone just as John came bounding up the stairs.

"What's going on?" he took one look at the American and was completely confused, "Jesus, what the hell is happening?"

"Lottie and Mrs. Hudson have been attacked by an American; I'm restoring balance to the universe." Sherlock didn't take his aim off of the man and John all but ran over to the girls, taking a seat next to Mrs. Hudson.

"Oh. My God, are you girls all right?" he looked at the cut on his landlady's forehead and glanced around her at Lottie, "Jesus, what have they done to you?"

"Mrs. Hudson has a cut on her head that needs looked at, she may have a concussion, but Lottie is seriously injured, I think he may have broken a rib. Take them downstairs, look after them."

John tried to help Mrs. Hudson up, but she insisted that she was fine; walking out the door and down the stairs to her own flat, but Lottie was in so much pain. John knew getting her down to Mrs. Hudson's flat was going to hurt and there was close to nothing that he could do to stop it. He looked over at Sherlock, who was now standing over the American with the gun aimed at his head and his phone to his ear. John approached him.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

"I expect so, now go. Get Lottie out of here."

John had never seen such fury in Sherlock's eyes before. He thinned his lips and turned to help Lottie to her feet. He warned her about the pain and he stood at her bad side, letting her use him as a sort of crutch. She was trying so hard to hide how much pain she was in but if her rib really was broken, or bruised, which is what John was thinking more along the lines of, she was handling it a lot better than some men he'd seen back in his army days. When he finally got her downstairs to Mrs. Hudson's flat he helped her lie down on the living room couch and getting her comfortable before tending to Mrs. Hudson in the kitchen. He cleaned up the wound with a wet washrag and they broke out the first aid kit to medicate and but a bandage over the cut. They were just finishing up when they heard a loud crash just outside the window. Mrs. Hudson jumped and John peered outside.

"Oh, that was right on my bins."

John shook his head, knowing what Sherlock had done but he ignored it and closed up the first aid kit, putting it away back where it belonged.

"John? What was that?" Lottie called from the other room where he'd left her and Mrs. Hudson went in to check on her while he gathered an icepack and pain medication to give to her, and another wet rag to clean up the cuts she had. When he joined them, Lottie was trying to sit up but he stopped her.

"No, I don't think so." He took a seat on the edge of the couch beside her and set his things on the table and started examining her injuries.

"But what was that crash?" she insisted. John chuckled, whipping some of the blood from her cheekbone with the disinfectant. She hissed and pulled away.

"That would be Sherlock dealing with things the only way he knows how."

Lottie furrowed her eyebrows but John said no more, getting her face and shoulder cleaned up before maneuvering her so he could take a look at her ribs. When he lifted her shirt his eyes squinted and he made a face. He knew she had to be in a lot of pain. It wasn't broken; amongst the footprint shaped bruise that was forming was an even darker bruise in two stripes where two of her ribs were bruised. He sighed, pulling her shirt back down.

"The next few weeks are not going to be fun for you, I'm afraid." He picked up the icepack and set it on her bruise as gently as possible, though she still squeezed her eyes shut. He took one of the pain pills and gave one to her with a glass of water and when she sat up enough to get it down her throat, her necklace caught his eye. It had come open in all the commotion and he picked it up to look at it once she was settled back down. The picture of the three of them, and to his surprise, Sherlock's engraving on the back. He creased his eyebrows.

"Did Sherlock give this to you?"

She gave him the same confused look right back, "Yeah, for Christmas. Didn't you know?"

"No, I had no idea."

She blinked, shaking her head, "You mean, Sherlock did this on his own?"

Neither John nor Mrs. Hudson said a word and Lottie held the locket in her fingers. John watched her with interest and that's when it clicked, "You fancy him, don't you?"

Last time Lottie had been asked this question she was almost appalled that it had even been considered; but now, things were different, and John didn't need her words to know her answer. She looked up at him and everything she'd been wanting to tell him, everything that'd been weighing on her mind since her lunch date with Bekah poured out from her so easy to read eyes. John didn't think he could believe it, but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense to him. He stood and leaned down to kiss her forehead, "You need rest. I'll be back to check on you."

He and Mrs. Hudson left Lottie alone to sleep off her injuries, fixing themselves a cup of tea in the kitchen just at the police arrived to the scene. When nightfall came, and the police sirens finally ceased, Sherlock joined them through the back door. John considered saying something to him, about the necklace, but he kept his mouth shut against his better judgment, jumping to more important things like the girls' safety.

"They'll have to sleep upstairs in our flat tonight. We need to look after them." He said.

"Mrs. Hudson's fine." Sherlock peered into the fridge and pulled out an apple. John thought it strange that he didn't mention Lottie, as if he already had plans for her, but he didn't push it.

"No, she's not, look at her. She's got to take some time away from Baker Street." He explained, "She can go and stay wither sister. Doctor's orders."

"Don't be absurd."

"She's in shock for God's sake, and all over some bloody stupid camera phone. Where is it anyway?"

Mrs. Hudson smiled, as did Sherlock, as she pulled the phone from inside her shirt, "You left it in the pocket of your second best dressing gown, you clot! I managed to sneak it out when they thought I was having a cry."

Sherlock took the phone from her, pocketing it with a polite thank you to her. He put his arm around her shoulders, "Shame on you, John Watson."

"Shame on me?" John defended.

"Mrs. Hudson leave Baker Street? England would fall."

"And what of Lottie?"

The words came out of John's mouth before he could stop them and he was surprised to find that he almost regretted even mentioning her at Sherlock's expression. His features faltered and his whole aura shifted, "Where is she?"

John inclined his head and Sherlock started immediately in the direction of the living room. Mrs. Hudson and John glanced at each other before following him. Lottie hadn't moved from where they'd left her, her icepack still lying on her ribcage and Sherlock approached her without hesitation, kneeling down next to her. She stirred when his knuckles brushed her cheek where the American had punched her. When he opened her eyes she smiled at him, and, going against doctor's orders and with the help of the pain medication in her system, she sat up enough to wrap her arms around his neck. He was taken aback at first but then he held her small frame in his arms just before lying her back down on her back.

"How're you feeling?" he asked.

"Like I was hit by a truck."

Sherlock chuckled, "You're going to sleep in my bed tonight, and I'm going to lift you and it's going to hurt."

He stood and gave her a moment to take a deep breath before gently scooping her up in his arms. She dug her nails into his shoulders but she stayed silent. They bid Mrs. Hudson good night and John followed Sherlock up the stairs to their flat and into Sherlock's bedroom. He laid her down and covered her with a sheet. She looked up at him and he smiled at her. Up until now, John had been simply observing the interactions between his two friends but he merely left it up to fate or chance or whatever the hell people called it these days. But something was telling him there was more to this than Sherlock was leading on. John had brought things up before, when Lottie wasn't around but John had always felt like Sherlock just wasn't telling him everything. He cleared his throat, fidgeting and leaning towards the living room.

"She needs more medicine. Sherlock? Give me a hand?"

Sherlock looked up at him, "Yes, of course."

The two of them started down the hall and into the kitchen where John had stored some medical supplies for just such an occasion. With their lifestyle, it was almost necessary and he was glad he had done so in this situation. He was silent a moment, gathering up the pain pills that Lottie would need and Sherlock watched with disinterest. When John began putting the bottles away, he turned to his flat mate.

"What's going on here?"

Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows, "What're you talking about? Lottie is in need of those, we should,"

"That's what I'm talking about. You and Lottie."

Sherlock was silent, staring straight into John's eyes, completely emotionless, yet John felt he was trying his hardest to show him how he felt, but John was not a mind reader, unlike what Sherlock seemed to think. But something was there, something that told John that Sherlock was having a hard time with this one. This was more of John's expertise. He sighed.

"Sherlock, I know you're confused."

"Confused? Why would I be confused?"

"Don't lie to me. I know she's there. Running around your mind palace, distracting you from your cases. She has been since the day you met her."

Sherlock had nothing to say. John was completely right. Her name, her face, her voice, she herself, she was always there. He hadn't told John about the Red Floor where he let her stay, even if he did help him with the Palace. John was watching him with interest. For the first time in his life, Sherlock didn't have a word to say, and John was completely shocked. He smiled, chuckling to himself and Sherlock looked at him, clearly confused by his reaction. John shook his head.

"Sherlock, you love her."

Sherlock said nothing and John was speechless at the thought that maybe he was right. The Sherlock Holmes, the famous sleuth of Baker Street, was in love with Miss Charlotte Blakely, the pretty little redhead that lived downstairs. He couldn't believe it. Sherlock held out his hand for the medicine and John placed it in his hands. With a glass of water he returned back to his bedroom and John stood at the end of the hall, letting this new theory sink in. In the backroom, Sherlock kneeled down by the bedside next to a very sleepy Lottie. She smiled and sat up just enough to place the pills Sherlock gave her into her mouth and take a sip of water. Once the medicine was done she laid her head back on her pillow and he set the glass of water down on the side table, rising to his feet.

"Where is it now?" she said. Sherlock knew she was referring to the cell phone and he slid his hand in his pocket, gripping the object in subject.

"Where no one will look."

"Whatever's on that phone is more than just pictures, isn't it?"

"Yes it is."

Lottie sucked in a painful breath, speaking in a low, weary voice, "John told me she's still alive. How do you feel about that?"

Outside, the clock tower struck midnight and Lottie waited patiently for his answer, but Sherlock said nothing and she was once again filled with that overwhelming desire to know what was going on in that mind of his, "Do you think you'll be seeing her again?"

He thinned his lips and bent down to kiss her forehead, "Happy New Year, Lottie."

He was about to walk out of the room but she reached out to grab his sleeve and he looked down at her, her eyes locked onto his.

"Stay with me?"

Her words smacked him hard in the face and he moved so that he was holding her hand. He glanced down the hallway where John was still waiting for him, but he merely closed the door, throwing any plans he had for the night out the window.


	11. To Love You Better Than I Ever Will

After a few days of sleeping in Sherlock's bed and with the boys keeping a close eye on both her and Mrs. Hudson, Lottie was able to finally move around without too much trouble. She managed to talk them into letting her go back down to her flat under the condition from John that she would only come up if she absolutely had too, deeming it "doctor's orders". She agreed, thinking it wouldn't be such a big deal for another week or two but she was utterly mistaken. She never understood how she could always forget how fidgety she was. Three days back down in her flat and she was deeply regretting not staying with Sherlock. She started coming up the stairs, pushing through the pain that was finally reaching its peak, just so she would have something to do. She thought John was going to staple her to her bed if he caught her treading up the stairs again but she couldn't stand sitting down there all day. She had to get up and move around, at least a little bit, no matter how much it hurt. Her ribs weren't hurting near as bad as before and it was getting easier to move around and, as she kept reminding John, she was putting ice on it as he instructed. Surely that counted for something.

On a day when no one was home and she had just finished her third book in the past week or so, Lottie stood from her bed and took a deep breath. John had been going out a lot lately, either on dates or to the shops she had no idea, but she knew he was gone again. Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock as well, off doing whatever it was they'd been doing in between cases and such. Lottie wandered her flat, debating on going upstairs but then if she couldn't find anything to do in her own flat by herself, what was she going to do in the boys' flat by herself? She let out a cry of aggravation, plopping down on her couch then immediately regretting it, crying out in pain. When it subsided, she sighed and sat in utter boredom, staring at the ceiling in silence. She finally decided she could at least go up and wait for someone to get home. She stood gingerly and started for the stairs, but when she opened the door and turned the corner Sherlock caught her off guard, halfway down the stairs to her flat. They both stopped in their tracks.

"Sherlock!" Lottie said, "What're you doing?"

"I was coming to check on you. Where are you going? You know what John said."

She looked away guiltily, "I know, I just,"

"I know, Lottie." He smiled, knowing she couldn't sit still for very long, "Come on."

He held out his hand and she smiled, taking the first few steps slowly and carefully till she could reach his outstretched arm, letting him fold his fingers around her palm without hesitation. He helped her up the stairs with more patience than he was usually given credit for and she rolled her eyes in irritation.

"This is so bloody irritating." She muttered.

"Don't worry. You'll be back babysitting John and me in no time." He got her to the top of the stairs and she let out a deep breath. It was getting easier but it still wore her out to make that trek. Sherlock let her catch her breath and he took in two breaths through his nose, furrowing his eyebrows in suspicion. Lottie was about to start for the kitchen but he stopped her, placing two gentle hands on her waist, careful of her injury. She looked up at him.

"What is it, Sherlock?"

He put his finger to his lips and stepped around her to examine the window on the other side of the room that was hanging open. Lottie watched him follow his nose to his bedroom and she stayed put, trying to stay out of his way. John bounded up the steps behind her with groceries in his hand.

"Lottie, what have I told you-?"

She held up a hand to stop him, watching Sherlock wander around their flat and John's eyes followed his flat mate down the hall with curiosity.

"Sherlock?" he set the groceries down and followed Lottie down the hall towards Sherlock's bedroom.

"We have a client." Sherlock told them.

"What, in your bedroom?" John turned the corner just after Lottie and they were both surprised to find a beautiful, dark haired woman asleep in Sherlock's bed. Lottie glanced between the two boys seeing as neither of them seemed at all surprised. Did they know her? Was she supposed to know her? She was racking her brain for the answer and then it hit her and her eyes went wide in surprise.

"Is that…?"

"Yep." Sherlock popped his lips and John nodded his head.

"The woman." He added, "Irene Adler."

Lottie looked from John down at the sleeping woman in Sherlock's bed. She could definitely see how she would occupy Sherlock's thoughts; she was extremely beautiful. She glanced at Sherlock and he was watching Irene and Lottie could see the wheels in his brain turning. She bit her lip and Irene's eyes fluttered open. She looked up at the three of them staring at her and sat up on her elbows and Sherlock took a deep breath, placing a hand on Lottie's waist.

"Come on, let's get started." He ushered her into the living room and she felt as if he had set some sort of plan in motion. She felt something fall into the pocket of her oversized cardigan and he looked her right in the eyes as he set her down in his chair. She knew what he had given her and she was starting to see his plan, but as always there were pieces missing that would be impossible for her to figure out herself. He pulled up a chair from the desk and sat next to her as John came in, leading Irene to his own chair. He grabbed the other desk chair and they all sat in silence for a moment. Lottie watched Irene's movements and her body language portrayed a certain anxiety. The entire room felt tense with a nervous air and this woman whom Lottie had only seen photos of until now seemed to be who was causing it. If she was honest, Lottie found this woman to be very intimidating and she decided staying silent for this one was probably her best bet.

"So," Sherlock started, "Who's after you?"

Irene looked at him, "People who want to kill me."

"Who's that?"

"Killers." She smirked and Lottie gave her a look, even if she wasn't paying attention to her.

"It would help if you were a tiny bit more specific." John said.

"So you faked your own death in order to get ahead of them?" Sherlock determined and Irene smiled at him.

"It worked for a while."

"Except you let John know that you're alive and therefore me. And now Lottie as well. Seems the cat's out of the bag."

Let John know? What on earth, when did that happen? Lottie looked around confused but said nothing. She would simply ask John later but at the moment it didn't seem all the important to the situation at hand.

"I knew you'd keep my secret." Irene eyed Lottie and she had to look away, finding it hard to look this woman in the eye. For whatever reason, she felt guilty around her. She began to wring her hands together scooting back into her seat as possible.

"You couldn't." Sherlock called her out.

"But you did, didn't you?" she sat up straighter, "Where's my camera-phone?"

"It's not here," John said, "We're not stupid."

"Then what have you done with it? If they've guess you've got it, they'll be watching you."

"If they've been watching me, they'll know that I took a safety deposit box at a bank on the Strand a few months ago." Sherlock said.

"I need it."

"Well, we can't just go and get it, can we?" John said, then a plan seemed to form in his mind and he looked at Sherlock, "Molly Hooper."

Sherlock looked at him.

"She could collect it and take it to Bart's. Then one of your homeless network could bring it here, leave in the café and one of the boys downstairs could bring it up the back."

Sherlock nodded, seemingly impressed, "Very good, John, excellent plan, full of intelligent precautions."

"Thank you. So, why don't I phone...?"

"Lottie."

Irene furrowed her eyebrows and turned to the redhead across from her. Lottie swallowed and pulled the phone from her pocket and John rolled his eyes. Irene stood, glancing between Sherlock and Lottie as Sherlock leaned over to take the phone from Lottie's outstretched hand, turning it over in his own hands.

"So," Sherlock started, "What do you keep on here? In general, I mean?"

Irene crossed her arms, standing her ground, "Pictures, information, anything I might find useful."

"For blackmail?" John said.

"For protection. I make my way in the world, I misbehave. I like to know people will be on my side exactly when I need them to be."

"So how do you acquire this information?" Sherlock said.

"I told you, I misbehave."

Lottie sat watching the scene, taking in everyone's words and trying to gather her own thoughts and feelings. This woman, The Woman, she was smart, beautiful, powerful, and, to Lottie, very intimidating. This woman made her uncomfortable for reasons Lottie could not wrap her head around. One would think after everything that she'd been through with John and Sherlock she'd be more confident than this, but right now all she wanted to do was crawl to the very corner of her seat and bury her head in her arms, hoping to be seen by no one. She glanced at Sherlock, watching him piece together this puzzle that Miss Adler was giving him. He held the phone in his hands, watching Irene with interest.

"But you've acquired something that's more danger than protection." He continued, "Do you know what it is?"

"Yes. But I don't understand it."

"I assumed. Show me."

Irene held out her hand at his command but Sherlock merely held the phone away from her, "The passcode."

The room was tense and John and Lottie glanced between the two, neither Sherlock nor Irene seemed like they were going to give in and finally, after a nasty look from Irene, Sherlock handed over the phone. She gave him a sly, triumphant smile, pressing a few buttons to unlock the phone, but her face fell and she looked confused, "It's not working."

Sherlock popped out of his seat, "No, because it's a duplicate that I had made into which you've just entered the number 1058. I assumed you'd choose something more specific than that, but thanks anyway."

Sherlock leaned down beside Lottie and pulled the real phone from the chair cushions she was sitting on. She and John both adopted smirks at the realization of his plan as he typed in the passcode, all of them prepared to bring Irene down for good, but their spirits sank when the device denied Sherlock access once again. Irene pulled her chin up in victory and Sherlock was shocked.

"I told you that camera-phone was my life, I know when it's in my hand." She said and Sherlock shifted his weight, eyeing this new competitor.

"Oh, you're rather good." He said.

"You're not so bad."

Lottie watched the two of them with innocent eyes, her heart sinking at the new thought she was having about Sherlock's relationship with this woman. She wouldn't lie, she was completely jealous. She knew that she and Sherlock weren't together, and probably never would be, but it didn't mean she was incapable of this feeling. This mind game that Sherlock and Irene were playing, this was something she would never be able to give him. She wasn't smart enough and she knew that. She fidgeted in her seat, as she always did after sitting for too long, but her body protested where her ribs grew stiff from her injury that she had honestly forgot about and a soft whimper involuntarily escaped her lips. She stopped moving, hoping she hadn't drawn any attention to herself but John watched Irene's eyes. They were locked onto Sherlock's expression as his eyes darted towards Lottie for a split second and a knowing smile grew on The Woman's lips. John narrowed his eyes at her; she knew exactly what she was doing.

"There was a man, an MOD official and I knew what he liked." She walked around Sherlock, "One of the things he liked was showing off. He told me this email was going to save the world. He didn't know it, but I photographed it. He was a bit tied up at the time."

Sherlock took a moment to collect himself and grabbed the phone from Irene's hand, sitting across from John at their desk, eyeing photo on the screen.

"It's a bit small on that screen, can you read it?" Irene added.

"Yes." Was Sherlock's short answer, barely acknowledging her question.

"Code, obviously. I had one of the best cryptographers in the country take a look at it, though he was mostly upside-down, as I recall. Couldn't figure it out."

Lottie rolled her eyes, wishing Irene was just shut up already. She was half-surprised Sherlock hadn't already told her to shut up. All she was doing was showing off, and surely the boys knew this? Maybe they did and they were ignoring it for the sake of the case. It made sense, but it simply forced Lottie to bite on the inside of her cheek to keep from telling the woman to shut up herself.

"What can you do, Mr. Holmes?" Irene leaned in to whisper in his ear, "Go on, impress a girl."

Lottie watched in awe as Irene looked right at her while she went in for a kiss on his cheek. As soon as her lips made contact, Sherlock's eyes flew to Lottie but she wasn't paying any attention to him. She was too busy pegging Irene for a low-life control freak. In half an hour, she had deduced Lottie's love for Sherlock and used it against her to fill her ego. But she and Sherlock weren't a couple, so she didn't know what Irene was trying to prove. Lottie took a deep breath, listening to Sherlock explain the code Irene had showed him.

"There's a margin for error, but I'm pretty sure there's a 747 leaving Heathrow tomorrow at 6:30 in the evening for Baltimore. Apparently it's going to save the world, I'm not sure how that could be true, but give me a moment, I've only been on the case for eight seconds."

They all stared at him and he looked around, rolling his eyes, "Oh, come on, it's not code, these are seat allocations on a passenger jet. Look! There's no letter 'I' because it can be mistaken for a one. No letters past 'K', the width of the plane is the limit. The numbers always appear randomly and not in sequence, but the letters have little runs of sequence all over the place. Families and couples sitting together. Only a jumbo is wide enough to need a letter 'K' or rows past 55, which is why there's always an upstairs. There's a row 13 which eliminates the more superstitious airlines. Then there's the styles of the flight number, 007 that eliminates a few more. And assuming the British point of origin, which would be logical, considering the original source of the information and assuming from the increased pressure on you lately that the crisis is imminent, the only flight that matches all the criteria and depart within the week is the 6:30 to Baltimore tomorrow evening from Heathrow airport."

When he finished, Sherlock looked at Irene and found her staring at him in awe. He rolled his eyes, "Please don't feel obliged to tell me that was remarkable or amazing. John's expressed that thought in every possible variant available to the English language."

She paused before closing the space between them, "I would have you right here, on this desk, until you begged for mercy twice."

She was completely serious and Sherlock stared her down, however still took a few small steps back to put some distance between them. He called for John to check the flight schedules to double check himself, never taking his eyes off of Irene. Be blinked at her unchanging stare, "I've never begged for mercy in my life."

"Twice." She reminded him.

"Erm," John cleared his throat to get their attention, "Yeah, you're right."

Irene turned and looked Lottie right in the eyes with a victorious smile and that's when Lottie knew for sure: Irene was doing this on purpose. She was doing more than just using Lottie's feelings against her; she was trying to turn her away from Sherlock so she could use him for whatever it was she had up her sleeve, or rather lack of one. Sherlock followed Irene's gaze, taking in Lottie's body language that he'd grown to know so well and he knew something was wrong. Irene's hand grazed the tabletop where Sherlock's hand rested, letting her fingers caress his, not breaking eye contact with Lottie. She was not serious, she couldn't be. Sherlock looked down confused and Lottie rolled her eyes, getting to her feet, ignoring the searing pain in her ribcage. John immediately stood to help her but she turned away from him.

"Where are you going?" he said.

"I just, I," she looked at him, and then at Sherlock, who was watching her with puppy dog eyes. She returned the look but with Irene eyeing her with a sense of victory, she knew she couldn't stay. She sighed, "Have fun with your "double-oh-seven" mission."

She started down the stairs with gingerly steps. The reverberation of her footsteps into the rest of her body was uncomfortable, but bearable, but that wasn't what she was thinking about in that moment. Now that she was alone, she was letting her emotions take over. Jealousy, anger, hurt, all of it. She let it flow through her veins, getting it all out. Irene was what he needed. Someone with the same brain patterns, someone who could mentally keep up with him.

But that didn't stop it from hurting any less.

She made it to the bottom of the steps and sighed. She suddenly thought of Molly, and wondered if the thoughts she was having were anything like hers. With another deep breath, and a single tear running down her cheek, she stepped inside the door to her flat and let it close behind her before anyone could see. She lowered herself onto the first step and with every sob sending a twinge of pain into her right side; she let out all of her emotion into one big breakdown. Little did she know on the other side of the door, Sherlock stood ready to knock, but something stopped him. He didn't know what, but something told him now was not the time. This would have to wait. Mycroft had sent some of his men with plane tickets to come and pick Sherlock up to take him to the airport. They were waiting for him but his attention was brought to the stairs leading to his flat where Irene was standing halfway up.

"Poor Little Lottie." She said. Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

"Don't call her Little Lottie."

She seemed taken aback by his tone, but he stood his ground, the daggers in his eyes making sure she got his message before following the men out the door. Irene stood in shock, taking in his reaction until she felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see John trying to get past her. He ignored her as she started back up the steps, opening the door to Lottie's flat and finding her still sat at the top of the staircase. He took a seat next to her and placed his arms around her frame, rocking her back and forth gently. She leaned into his chest, taking comfort in the encouraging sound of his voice, shushing her and reassuring her that everything was going to be alright. After a few minutes, she calmed down and they sat with him holding her, letting her take her time to gather herself.

"It hurts, John." She finally muttered.

"Is it time for your medicine again?" He asked, assuming she meant her bruised ribs but she shook her head, slowly and sadly.

"No, John. Here."

He looked down and found her hand lay on her chest, right over her heart. He closed his eyes, biting his lip in an effort to keep his mouth shut. This was not his place to say or his information to give. He sighed, knowing he would have to have words with Sherlock later, but for now, one of his best friends needed him. He would stay with Lottie. As long as she needed him, he would stay with her.


	12. Am I Close to You Anymore, If It's Over

It took Lottie a while to convince John to not mention what she had said to Sherlock. If she was honest she was a bit surprised that he insisted to hard that he say something to his flat mate, but she practically begged him to keep her secret. She knew herself, she knew how her heart and mind worked, and she would get over this thing and she would be fine. He agreed, but she knew he didn't like it, but it didn't matter. Why say something that would only make things awkward, and it wouldn't change anything anyway.

A few months passed and Lottie was finally back to normal, as was everything else in their life. Well, as normal as one could be being Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, and Lottie Blakely. Lottie was back to babysitting and helping with cases and the boys were back to solving them. Sherlock continued his ways of being around Lottie constantly and she didn't mind. It was comforting to know that after everything he still cared as much as he did before. When they were all together, in the press, on a case, or simply around the flat, John watched the two of them and it was breaking his heart to see them like this. Neither of them were saying a word, both for different reasons and he had promises to keep his mouth shut, and he did as he promised, but he didn't like it. Not one bit.

On a day when they were between cases, or rather cases that were interesting enough for Sherlock to take, Sherlock sat at the kitchen table with his eyes practically glued to his microscope. As usual, Lottie wasn't too far from him, sitting comfortable in his chair, wearing a pair of leggings and one of John's sweaters, absorbed into her latest book. The flat was quiet and she looked up at Sherlock, observing him as he often did her, though she never noticed. He sat up straight, concentrated on his experiment and it made her smile. She hadn't thought about the events and confessions of the New Year in quite some time but if she was honest, she was fine with this, completely content. She closed her book and stood with a stretch and Sherlock looked over at her.

"How's your book?" he asked, as he so often did now.

"Good, really good, actually." She grabbed her small purse from the desk and he returned to his sciences as she pulled it across her chest, "I'm gonna go grab some crisps and a cuppa. You need anything?"

"No thank you."

She told him she'd be back in just a bit and trotted down the stairs with ease, thankful for the painless movement. She slipped outside into the rain and stepped in the door next to their flats. There were quite a few people and Lottie was somewhat surprised but she continued her business, ordering a small sandwich, crisps and a coffee to go. She pulled out her phone while she waited but amongst all the noise, a voice stood out to her and she looked around. She spotted John and Mycroft in the far corner of the café. They handed her to food to her in a to go bag and she thanked them absentmindedly, debating on whether or not to approach the men at the booth. They looked really serious about whatever it was they were talking about, and for a moment she almost turned around to go back upstairs to Sherlock, but something sitting on the table in between them caught attention. Her eyes went wide at the sight of Irene Adler's phone sealed up in a transparent bag sat on top of a large file and Lottie took a few steps to hide just behind the wall that jutted out next to their table so that John and Mycroft couldn't see her but she could hear them, and if she poked her head around the corner carefully she could see them, but she simply tried to keep as quiet as possible and zone in on their conversation.

"Is that the file on Irene Adler?" John was saying.

"Closed forever." Mycroft replied, "I am about to go and inform my brother, or, if you prefer, you are, that she somehow got herself into witness protection scheme in America. New name, new identity. She will survive and thrive, but he will never see her again."

"Why would he care? He despised her at the end. Won't even mention her by name, just The Woman." John sipped his coffee.

"Is that loathing or a salute? One of a kind, the one woman who matters?"

"He's not like that. He doesn't' feel things that way."

Lottie's heart dropped, confusion filling her mind. If he didn't feel things that way, then what of Irene? What was all that about then? She considered letting it be, going back up to the flat with Sherlock but Mycroft's next words were in a different tone and she listened in again.

"You and I both know that's not true." He said. When John gave him a confused expression that was obviously fake, he rolled his eyes, "My brother has the brain of a scientist or a philosopher, yet he elects to be a detective. What might we deduce about his heart?"

"I don't' know."

"I beg to differ."

Mycroft sat back and John rubbed his face with his hands, "I don't know what to do with either of them. Lottie's afraid of holding him back and Sherlock doesn't even know his own heart."

"Ah, yes, Miss Blakely has recently been brought to my attention."

John looked up at him, "You do know that she's been around this whole time?"

Mycroft looked at him, "Yes, but up until now she wasn't important."

Lottie made a face that mimicked John's, who looked like he wanted to give the eldest Holmes boy a swift punch, but he refrained, unwillingly, letting him continue.

"Why has she been brought to your attention?"

"She may have been mentioned on the night of Bond Air, the night the flight 007 was supposed to take off from Heathrow."

Lottie remembered that night all too well. The night that John held her, picked up the pieces and pulled her back together, the night she hated to remember. She sighed, God, sometimes she could be so dramatic.

"Mentioned?" John said.

"Miss Adler may have said some, downgrading things about Miss Blakely that my brother was not too happy about."

John furrowed his eyebrows and Mycroft leaned on the table, "John, Irene was in love with Sherlock. The passcode to her phone was his name. Never in my life have I seen such words come out of my brother's mouth as they did when Irene said those things about Miss Blakely. Took her down with her own weapon: sentiment disguised as power."

Lottie sucked in a breath, covering her mouth. Her mind was racing, thoughts and feelings all over the place. She turned on her heel and all but raced out the door, praying that John and Mycroft didn't notice. She ran up the stairs and stopped when she got the boys' flat. Sherlock looked up at her presence and scanned her with worried eyes.

"Lottie, is everything all right?" he said warily.

"Um," she blinked and took a deep breath, "Yeah, fine. Just…cold."

She shed her coat without another word and took her food into the living room. Sherlock watched her with worried eyes and he looked as if he was going to pry and ask her more questions but John came up right as she sat back down in her seat and Sherlock eyed him as well. He was holding Irene's file and looking uncomfortable.

"Clearly you've got news." Sherlock said, "If it's about the Leeds triple murder, it was the gardener. Did nobody notice the earring?"

He returned to his microscope and Lottie glanced up from her book that she was now pretending to read, her food sitting on the table beside her chair. John was glancing between her and Sherlock, patting the file and taking a deep breath, "Uh, no, it's um…It's about Irene Adler."

Sherlock looked up at him, blinking. Lottie followed his lead, pretending to be surprised and interested. Sherlock looked over at her and his eyes fluttered; he seemed unsure of where to look, "Well? Has something happened? Has she come back?"

"No, no, she's…I just bumped into Mycroft downstairs, he had to take a call."

He was trying to stall, and Lottie knew it. She knew that a lot of crap had gone down while Irene was around, but something was telling her that there was something else that she'd missed while she was eavesdropping, whether it was before or after she left, she wasn't' sure.

"Is she back in London?" Sherlock stood.

"No. She's, uh…" he took a deep breath, "She's in America."

He looked surprised, "America?"

"Mm-hmm. Got herself on a witness Protection scheme, apparently. I don't know how she swung it but, uh…well, you know."

"I know what?"

"Well, you won't be able to see her again."

"Why would I want to see her again?" he almost seemed angry at the thought and John cleared his throat.

"Didn't say you did."

Sherlock sat back down, "Is that her file?"

"Yes, I was just going to take it back to Mycroft. Do you want to…?" he held it out to him but he was met with a stern 'No'. John hesitated, "Hmm. Listen, actually."

"No, but I will have the camera-phone, though." Sherlock held out his hand, never taking his eyes away from his microscope. Lottie watched him, trying to deduce his state of mind, but like always, it never worked.

"There's nothing on it anymore." John explained, "It's been striped."

"I know, but I…I'll still have it."

"I've got to give this back to Mycroft, you can't keep it."

Sherlock said nothing. He simply held out his hand and John sighed, "Sherlock, I have to give this to Mycroft, it's the government's now. I couldn't…"

"Please."

Lottie's heart was beating hard and fast with curiosity as John handed over the camera-phone and Sherlock gave him a soft thank you before pocketing it and focusing on his experiment once again. John started back downstairs in defeat and Lottie took a moment to let the scene sink in. She finally stood and leaned on the door frame in between the kitchen and living room, rubbing her forearms in nervousness. She was about to speak but Sherlock beat her to it.

"You know what I've been wondering?" he said, "Why you're suddenly so nervous to talk to me."

He looked up at her and their eyes met, sending a chill down her spine. She bit her lip and took in a deep breath. She just, she had to know, "Did she ever text you again after all that?"

He thinned his lips, "Once, a few months ago."

Lottie's breath caught and she cleared her throat, "What'd she say?"

He paused, judging her reactions to his words before speaking again, "'Goodbye, Mr. Holmes'."

Lottie chewed on her bottom lip, nodding her head in understanding, "I, uh, need to run downstairs real quick."

She walked away, around the corner and through the front door, but she stopped when she heard Sherlock walking into the living room. He wasn't facing her, but he knew she was there. There was no way he wouldn't know, not Sherlock. He was holding Irene's phone in his hand, examining it. He sucked in a quick breath, muttering under his breath.

"The Woman."

He opened his desk drawer and placed the phone inside as Lottie closed her eyes, took in a calming breath, and started down the stairs to her own flat. She had a lot she needed to think about.


	13. Over the Edge

_Lottie looked at her surroundings with a cautious curiosity. She had no idea where she was and she had no idea how she got there. The scenery told her it was London, somewhere in the heart of the famous city, but her senses were telling her a different story. She could smell chlorine and it sounded like water was lapping up against slick tile. She looked around confused, knowing that deep in her heart she was here to find Sherlock, she had to rescue him, but from what she wasn't sure. She just knew something wasn't right. Sherlock's words kept forming in her mind: "Just think, Lottie. Think." To her left was an old, tall white building that, after a moment, she realized was Bart's, the hospital where Molly worked and where Sherlock "borrowed" the lab for cases. How had she not realized that before? Something caught her eye on the roof and when she looked up she gasped in fear, Moriarty was there with that psychopathic smile of his. She took a step back and screamed when she slipped and fell into a pool that wasn't behind her before. She went under for a few seconds and when she came back up, gasping for air Bart's was gone. She circled around, wading in the water. The scene had changed and she found herself in the pool where Carl Powers died, where Moriarty brought her with bombs strapped to her chest. The fear she felt that night was filling her heart and she began to call out to Sherlock, wishing with all her might that he would hear her terrified screams. Around her, the water she was attempting to stay afloat in was changing, thickening into a dark red until she was swimming a pool of blood and she backed herself into a corner to get away, tears stinging at the corner of her eyes._

" _Oh, Little Lottie."_

_She stopped at the voice behind her, turning and praying that it wasn't who she thought it was, but her worst fears were realized when Jim Moriarty stood at the edge of the pool with a triumphant smile on his face. Lottie felt anger rise in her throat and her whole body began to shake with emotion._

" _What do you want with me?" she said through gritted teeth._

_He didn't say a word, simply staring at her with that creepy smile that haunted her dreams for months. She stared him down, waiting for an answer, but all he did was raise his hand and snap his fingers, cuing a sound that stopped Lottie's heart. A crack in the pavement, the thump of a body landing on concrete. She breathed out in denial, whispering her wishes for it not to be true. But as she turned, Moriarty began to walk away, his maniacal laugh echoing in the pool hall, merging with her blood curdling scream to find what she feared most on the other side of the pool: Sherlock's unmoving body lying limp at the edge swimming pool. She immediately began trudging her way through the blood that surrounded her, dizziness conflicting her vision until she reached the other side and lifted her body onto the tile next to Sherlock. Her vision was blurry through the tears as she rolled Sherlock onto his back. His face was pale and blood covered most of his features, and there was no pulse._

" _Sherlock!" the agony in her voice was heart wrenching, though there was no one there to hear it. She was all alone, no one to help her. She called out for help, crying over Sherlock's chest, but no one came. She tried to sit him up but she was weak and his lifeless body was too heavy for her and she slipped back into the pool of blood, but this time she couldn't reach the surface. She was drowning, weighted down in fear and anger and despair and no one was there to hear her muffled screams._

"Lottie! Lottie, wake up!"

She sat up with a start, breathing heavy and feeling dizzy. She looked around and found herself in the spare bedroom in Mrs. Hudson's flat and John was sitting on the bed beside her. One look at his red, puffy eyes that were surrounded by dark circles and she burst into tears, cuddling into his chest. He cradled her, shushing her, reminding her to breathe, but before too long, he was reduced to tears himself. She wrapped her arms around his chest, taking handfuls of his tee shirt and they both sat there, holding each other, each of them were the only other person either one of them had that understood the pain and suffering they were going through. When they finally calmed down, they continued to sit like that, the only comfort they could find was in each other's embrace.

"It's been three months, John." Lottie muttered.

"I know." His voice was low and hoarse, both from crying and lack of use. The only people either of them would talk to anymore was each other and here lately, neither one of them felt like talking.

"I just, I can't believe that he…Sher – "

She gripped his shirt again when his voice cracked and it took him a minute to recover. Lottie took a deep breath before she spoke, afraid her voice wouldn't work any better than his, "You remember what your therapist said. You've got to get it out."

"I know, I just…I can't believe…my best friend, Sherlock Holmes…" he held tighter to Lottie and she did the same, knowing exactly how he was feeling as he broke down with his words, uttering the syllables that neither of them had been willing to admit to.

"Is dead."


	14. It's All Great, But It's Not All Sure

_***3 MONTHS EARLIER*** _

With the case of Irene Adler finally put to rest, Sherlock, John, and Lottie took on more and more cases to occupy their time. Soon enough, a custom evolved for people to give Sherlock a gift when he solved their case. Much to Sherlock's dismay, these things ranged from diamond cuff-links to tie pins, and even a brand new hat that the police department all chipped in for; just like the one he wore in all those front page photos that he hated. Sherlock was not thrilled with any of this "unnecessary nonsense" as he called it, forcing John and Lottie, who stood by him in every press release, to scold him for not being polite.

"'Boffin'? Boffin Sherlock Holmes."

John and Lottie looked up from their morning reading when Sherlock slammed a newspaper down on the coffee table in front of them. Lottie smiled and shook her head, setting her feet on the floor while John picked up the paper and spread it across the table, "Everybody gets one."

"One what?" Sherlock said.

"Tabloid nickname. Subo, Nasty Nick. Shouldn't worry. Lottie and I will probably get one soon." He smiled at the red head next to him and she rolled her eyes.

"Oh boy." She stood and went into the kitchen for another cup of tea.

"John, page five, column six, first sentence." Sherlock said, "Lottie, second paragraph."

"Wait, what?" Lottie forgot all about the tea and resumed her seat next to John, reading over his shoulder when he flipped to the right page while Sherlock began to mumble to himself.

"Why is it always the hat photograph?" he said, picking up the hat that the police department had given him.

"'Bachelor John Watson.'" John muttered.

"What kind of hat is it, anyway?"

"Bachelor? What the hell are they implying?"

"Is it a cap? Why has it got two fronts?" Sherlock turned the hat back and forth in quick motions. Lottie glanced up at him.

"It's a deerstalker, Sherly, love." She said.

"'…frequently seen in the company of bachelor John Watson.'" John read.

"'…and the ginger bird Charlotte "Lottie" Blakely.'" She sat back in her seat, dumbfounded, "is that all anyone sees is my ginger hair?"

"How do you stalk a deer with a hat? What am I going to do, throw it?" Sherlock continued.

"'Confirmed bachelor John Watson.'" John exclaimed in anger.

"Is it like some sort of death Frisbee?"

"Alright you two." Lottie said, grabbing the boys' attention. She'd had enough of this griping and complaining, "We just need to be a little more careful."

"It's got flaps. Ear flaps."

"Sherlock, are you listening to me?"

"It's an ear hat, Lottie." He tossed the hat at her and she caught it with ease, "What do you mean, more careful?"

"I mean, this isn't a deerstalker now. It's a Sherlock Holmes hat."

"Lottie's right, I mean, you're not exactly a private detective anymore." John said, "You're this far from famous."

"Oh, it'll pass." Sherlock plopped down in his chair.

"It better pass." Lottie said, taking a more stern tone, "The press will turn, Sherly. They always turn. And they'll turn on you."

Sherlock let his hands fall on the arms of his chair, turning to look at Lottie with questioning eyes, "It really bothers you."

She was slightly taken aback, "What?"

"What people say. About me. I don't understand."

"Of course it does."

"Why would it upset you?"

She paused, taking a subtle deep breath, "You know why it bothers me, Sherlock."

Sherlock's eyes darted all over her frame, taking in the information her body was giving off. She was right, he did know. She worried about him, always has, always will. He took comfort in this fact, contrary to popular belief. Ever since John's discovery all those months ago of Sherlock's feelings towards Lottie, though he really wasn't quite sure himself at the time, anything that had to do with Lottie was comforting. She thinned her lips and got up from her seat and his eyes followed her into the kitchen. John took in a breath through his nose, restraining himself from saying anything to his two best friends.

"Look, just try and keep a low profile." He got to his feet, "And stay out of the news. I'm going to take a shower."

He disappeared into the bathroom and Sherlock sat there for a moment, considering the words that Lottie had spoken. He watched her movements, observing her emotions that she so plainly laid out for everyone to see while she made her tea. She'd always been like that, so open and honest, yet he had such a hard time setting a foundation for the two of them. John's words ran rampant around his head all day long, distracting him from his cases much like Lottie did when she escaped her floor of his mind palace. However she wasn't annoying like John's voice was nagging in his thoughts. Lottie didn't seem angry, or upset, but he could sense a bit of frustration and confusion that he knew he had brought on. She looked like she was trying to decide what to make for lunch and he stood, striding over to her cautiously when she leaned her hips on the counter while stirring her tea.

"What are you making for lunch?" he said.

"I dunno. What would you like?"

Her tone caught him off guard. It was angry, but she sounded as if she was bottling something up, and he wished so hard that she wouldn't. He'd accepted a lot of things about himself since Lottie had showed up in his life, and his care for her was one of them. He meant what he'd said back when they'd found out about Irene Alder's new life in the States, he really couldn't understand why before she had close to no problems talking to him, or opening up to him. He knew that he was hard to talk to sometimes (or a lot), but all of the sudden, she just seemed to nervous. Something told him that maybe he'd deleted the information he needed to deduce what was going on in Lottie's head and now he was kicking himself for doing it. She glanced at him over her shoulder and he realized he hadn't responded to her question. He cleared his throat, "Um, those cheese scones? The ones you made last week?"

A small smile graced her lips and she chuckled, "Of course."

He let a breath he didn't even know he was holding and found himself smiling. Maybe he was getting worked up over nothing. Is this what it was like when people care about other people? God, it why would anyone want to put themselves through that? But then he shook his head, remembering the girl that was standing in front of him.

"I'm sorry I worry so much." She said out of the blue. Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows.

"What are you talking about?"

"I know I get on your nerves when I do, but,"

He cut her off, "No, no, it's, um, it's okay. I don't mind it. I, actually, I…"

She turned to face him with curious eyes and he took a deep breath, "I actually kind of…take comfort in it."

"Really?" Lottie was astounded.

"Lottie, listen," he stepped closer to her and took her hand, hesitating to find his words, "I know I can be hard to deal with, and I don't listen to people very well, but I just want you to know that I listen to you, and I hear you. You're worrying doesn't bother me at all."

Lottie felt her cheeks go red and her lips thinned into a dimply smile, happiness lifting her heart. Sherlock squeezed her hand and leaned down to kiss her cheek, and before he stepped away, he stopped at her ear.

"Now, about those scones."

She slapped his arm and he smiled at her, stepping back to the kitchen table to return to his microscope. She took in his figure from behind and shook her head, getting to work on the cheese scones by Sherlock's request and just before she was to put them in the oven Sherlock's phone buzzed with a new text. It went off once or twice more while the pastries were baking and when it was time to pull them out John was padding down the hallway in nothing but his robe and a towel thrown over his shoulder. Sherlock's phone went off again.

"That's your phone, Sherlock." Lottie said.

"Mmm, keeps doing that, doesn't it?"

She rolled her eyes and exchanged a look with John as he took a seat in his chair, opening up the paper. Lottie placed the scones on a plate and walked around to set them on the table, sitting across from Sherlock. She took one from the plate and set it on a plate in front of her, scrolling through her phone and fiddling with the locket around her neck while he scone cooled. Sherlock glanced up from his work, smiling at her tiny fingers memorizing the front pattern of the jewelry. For Sherlock, it was soothing to know that she never took it off. That gift it was something that, to his surprise, he found great pride in. At the time he had bought it for a more specific reason, a reason that he felt that he may never need but he felt the precaution necessary. But now, months later, he saw a different reason that he was beginning to understand. His phone sounded again and Lottie looked up at him, catching his eyes watching her. He closed his eyes nodded his head to peer into the microscope.

"I'll get it, shall I?" she said. He glanced up at her and she was giving him a playful look, making him smile as she crossed into the living room, taking her tea with her. There was no passcode on his phone so she unlocked it and tapped the message app, opening up his unread messages. She skimmed the messages and in one blink, her world stopped. Her tea cup slipped from her fingers and she sucked in a breath. John looked up when he heard her tea cup hit the hardwood floor.

"Lottie?" he said; and Sherlock looked up at his worried voice, ready to get to his feet. Lottie looked from his phone, locking eyes with him and he could see the fear in her eyes.

"He's back." She breathed.

Sherlock stood and strode into the living room to stand by her, gently taking the phone from her shaking hands. John stood on her other side as the two of them skimmed the words on the screen.

'Come and play.

Tower Hill.

Jim Moriarty x.'

John and Lottie waited for his reaction, knowing how he felt about Moriarty. They could see the wheels in his brain turning and after a beat he put a hand on Lottie's arm, "Lottie, grab your coat. John, get dressed."

* * *

"That glass is tougher than anything."

"Not tougher than crystalized carbon." Sherlock explained to Lestrade. They were currently at the police station examining the surveillance camera footage that was covering the room where Moriarty had, in plain daylight, broken the case to the crowned jewels, seemingly with nothing but a fire extinguisher. Lottie watched the replay from a few feet away but as they played it again, she leaned in closer, leaning over Sherlock's shoulder to get a better look.

"He used a diamond."

Lestrade pressed a button on the keyboard, putting the video in reverse until it stopped just before Moriarty broke the glass. He had written 'GET SHERLOCK' backwards on the glass so that this specific camera could read it. The four of them stared at the screen and John looked over at Sherlock to find him gazing at the screen. Lottie closed her eyes and walked away from the computer, rubbing her face with her hands.

This was not happening again.


	15. The Only Evidence That You'd Been There

The next few weeks London was flooded with newspaper articles following the trial of Jim Moriarty, asking questions like how one earth he was able to break into the Bank of England, the Tower of London, and Pentonville prison all within the timespan of about ten minutes. Sherlock was to be called as an "expert witness" and Lottie and John planned on accompanying him so he wouldn't get himself into too much trouble. Well, at least they hoped not.

On the morning of the trial, the boys woke early, dressed in good, Sunday church suits and headed downstairs. Sherlock seemed at ease, but John kept checking the time while they stood just inside the front door. It was just about time to leave and Sherlock began looking around.

"Where's Lottie?"

John furrowed his eyebrows and glanced around. He walked over to the door leading down into Lottie's flat, "Lottie! It's time to go!"

"Coming!" came her reply. John left the door open and walked back towards Sherlock to wait for their redheaded companion. Barefooted footsteps could be heard padding up the stairs and when she got to the top Sherlock glanced over and his heart thumped, something he was still getting used to. Lottie leaned on the door frame to her flat in order to slip her nude colored heels onto her feet. She was dressed in a high-wasted pencil skirt with a flowy, white button-up that was tucked in. Typical court clothes. Her hair was straightened, making it at least an inch longer and where she might've usually only worn a bit of mascara to highlight her eyes, her whole makeup routine was in place and Sherlock could see her locket gleaming just under her shirt collar. She scurried over to the boys, apologizing for running late. Sherlock held out his hand and she took it with a deep breath.

"Ready?" she asked him. He hesitated, but he nodded his head and John opened the door, revealing a street full of reporters as far as the eye could see. They were everywhere and the police were lined up doing their best to hold them back. John held up his hand and started for the police car that was to be their escort with Sherlock right behind him, leading Lottie through the crowd protectively, irritation clear on his face. John went around to the other side of the car and Sherlock opened the back driver's side door, helping Lottie inside and eyeing the crowd surrounding his home. Once they were all inside, the car took off.

The first part of the car ride was silent and Lottie was sat wringing her hands together anxiously. She was trying her best to not think about all those months ago when Sherlock rescued her at the pool but it was a lot harder than she thought. She looked up at Sherlock who was gazing out the window, his fingers tapping apprehensively on his leg. Lottie sucked in a deep breath and wrapped her small fingers around his palm. To her surprise, he gave her hand a tight squeeze and let their folded hands rest on his leg. Maybe he needed this support system more than she thought.

"Remember…" John started.

"Yes." Sherlock cut him off without looking at him. John hesitated before speaking again.

"Remember…"

"Yes."

John took a calming breath, trying not to get frustrated. This was a very important trial and he did not want Sherlock's smartarse comments to screw this up, "Remember what they told you. Don't try to be clever."

"No."

"And please, just keep it simple and brief."

"God forbid the star witness in the trial should come across as intelligent."

"Intelligent, fine. Let's give smartarse a wide berth."

Sherlock waited a beat before replying, "I'll just be myself."

"Are you listening to me?"

Lottie put a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter, knowing full and well that this was not a laughing matter, but she thinned her grin and her eyes glanced up at the roof the car to keep from laughing. Sherlock looked down at her, exchanging a look with her before turning his interest back to the passing city outside the window. All of them grew silent the rest of the ride to the courthouse.

* * *

Lottie waited outside the restrooms for Sherlock before they were to head into the courtroom for Sherlock's turn to take the stand. John had gone off to inspect something or other that he'd seen on the way in, leaving Lottie sitting on a bench, trying her best to keep cool. Cameras and news reporters were surrounding the courthouse and somewhere in this building, Jim Moriarty was waiting to hear what Sherlock had to say. The men's restroom door swung open and Lottie's head popped up at Sherlock's figure standing next to her, but she furrowed her eyebrows at the redheaded woman that exited after him. The woman eyed Lottie and stalked off in the other direction. Lottie looked up at Sherlock confused but he shook his head, saying nothing and she let it go, getting to her feet and squeezing her hands together. Sherlock stepped closer to her, closing the space between them and speaking low so no one else could hear.

"Are you all right?" he asked. They locked eyes and his right hand was lightly holding hers, searching her eyes until she spoke. She knew what he was talking about. He knew how she felt about Moriarty and how much he frightened her. He'd given her nightmares for weeks. She nodded her head and filled her lungs with what she hoped was confident air. She also knew how Sherlock felt about the man, never too fond of him after the pool incident, or really even before that either.

"What about you?"

He thinned his lips, "I'm fine. I just, I can feel that he's planning something bigger than this. I just don't know what. And I hate not knowing."

She held his face with her free hand and he looked at her with such vulnerable eyes, a look she knew he only reserved for her. The PA system announced that the trial would be starting soon and Sherlock saw John approaching them from down the hall. He glimpsed down at Lottie and she was waiting patiently for him to speak.

"Remember what we discussed. Stick close to John."

She nodded, squeezing his hand that was still holding tight to hers. When John reached them and started urging toward the courtroom, the two of them followed, hand in hand per Sherlock's unspoken request. Lottie didn't mind, it was comforting. They stayed like that until he was called to witness and Lottie stayed in her seat next to John, watching the trial from the gallery, biting the inside of her cheeks nervously.

"A consulting criminal." The barrister said once Sherlock had taken his oath.

"Yes." He replied.

"Your words. Can you expand on that answer?"

"James Moriarty is for hire."

"A tradesman?"

"Yes."

He was keeping it simple, much to John and Lottie's happiness. Maybe this would actually go smoothly for once.

"But not the sort who'd fix your heating?"

"No, the sort who'd plant a bomb or stage an assassination, but I'm sure he'd make a pretty decent job of your boiler."

A soft laughter filled the room and Lottie chuckled, looking up at John. He didn't seem pleased and she cleared her throat, returning her attention to the trial.

"Would you describe him as…?" the barrister tried to continue but Sherlock interrupted her.

"Leading." He said.

"What?"

"Can't do that. You're leading the witness. The defense will object and the judge will uphold."

"Uh-oh." Lottie glanced around as the judge scolded Sherlock for his words.

"Ask me how. How would I describe him? What opinion have I formed of him? Did they not teach you this?"

"Mr. Holmes, we're fine without your help." The judge said.

"Sherly." Lottie sighed, glancing back when someone else entered the room a little late, finding the girl who'd exited the men's restroom after Sherlock sit down behind her. Lottie felt as if something was off about this girl but she ignored it as the barrister continued her questions, doing as Sherlock had told her.

"How would you describe this man, his character?" she said.

"First mistake," said Sherlock, "James Moriarty isn't a man at all. He's a spider. A spider at the centre of a web. A criminal web with a thousand threads and he knows precisely how each and every single one of them dances."

Lottie could see Moriarty nodding from the gallery, and when Sherlock glanced at him from where he stood, she could just envision the victorious, knowing smile plastered on her face. She didn't like it; in fact it pissed her off. She wanted to jump down from her seat and just claw his eyes out, but she refrained. The barrister cleared her throat, bringing her back to the situation at hand, but she couldn't even get out a full sentence before Sherlock made a face to stop her.

"And how long…"

"No, no, don't…Don't do that." He said, "That's really not a good question."

"Mr. Holmes!" the judge's harsh words filled the room again and Sherlock seemed a little surprised by his outburst.

"How long have I known him? Not really your best line of enquiry. We met twice, five minutes in total. I pulled a gun. He tried to blow me up. I felt we had a special something." He eyed Moriarty, who was faking a hurt frown. Sherlock returned with a fake apologetic smile while Moriarty smirked, chewing on his gum.

"Miss Sorrel, are you seriously claiming this man is an expert? After knowing the accused for just five minutes?"

Sherlock jumped to the defensive at the judge's accusations, "Two minutes would've made me an expert. Five was ample."

"Mr. Holmes, that's a matter for the jury."

"Oh, really?"

"Don't do it, Sherly." Lottie shook her head with her quiet comment. John was next to her, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hands, but they knew better. Sherlock began to deduce the jury, pointing out a librarian, two teachers, two persons with high-pressure jobs in the City and one of them was a medical secretary that trained abroad. Seven of them were married and two of them were having an affair with each other, and they had all just had tea and biscuits. Lottie let her head fall into her hands.

"Would you like to know who had the wafer?" Sherlock offered.

"Mr. Holmes!" the judge had had his last straw, "You've been called here to answer Miss Sorrel's questions, not to give us a display of your intellectual prowess. Keep your answers brief and to the point. Anything else will be treated as contempt. Do you think you could survive just a few minutes without showing off?"

Sherlock smirked and Lottie closed her eyes, hoping a praying that he wouldn't do this, just this once she hoped he would behave himself. But she knew better. She and John both knew better. The next thing they knew the two of them were paying Sherlock's bail at the nearest prison, waiting for him to pick up his belongings. John was leaned against the wall with his arms folded over his chest, looking very cross at his flat mate.

"What did I say? I said, 'Don't get clever.'" He said.

"I can't just turn it on and off like a tap." Sherlock turned and started down the hall with John and Lottie on either side of him, "Well?"

""Well what?"

"You were there for the whole thing. Up in the gallery, start to finish."

"Like you said it would be. Moriarty's lawyer just sat on his backside, never even stirred."

"Moriarty's not mounting any defense." Lottie added.

The way home was silent, save for Sherlock's bit of commentary on his own thoughts but there was no way to even try and figure out what he was thinking when he was like this. Lottie was off in her own world, trying to sort out her own thoughts. She was scared, of that she was certain, but she was fairly sure Sherlock was the only one who knew just to what extent. She didn't like the way he got into your head, the power he had, and the way he knew how to manipulate people. It was terrifying. At some level she was fairly confident that the jury would lock him up, but there was something in her gut that told her not to get too comfortable. That he was up to something, just as Sherlock was suspecting. They pulled up to their flat on Baker Street and popped out of the taxi and up to the boys' flat where John started up again.

"Bank of England, Tower of London, Pentonville. Three of the most secure places in the country and six weeks ago, Moriarty breaks in, no one knows how or why." He took a seat in his chair, "All we know is…"

"He ended up in custody." Sherlock gave him a look and John shook his head.

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"The look."

Sherlock turned to Lottie for help, obviously confused and she made a face as if she had no idea what he was talking about. He turned back to John, "Look?"

"You're doing the look again."

"Well, I can't see it, can I?"

John glanced at the mirror hanging above the mantel and Sherlock looked at it, still confused and throwing his hands in the air in defeat, "It's my face."

"Yes, and it's doing a thing. You're doing a 'we both know what's really going on here' face."

"Well, we do."

"No, I don't. Which is why I find the face so annoying. How come you never give Lottie that look?"

"Oh, he does. Don't worry." Lottie said. He looked down at her with those puppy dog eyes of his and she lay a hand on his arm, "You wanna walk us through it, love?"

He thinned his lips, "If Moriarty wanted the jewels, he'd have them. If he wanted those prisoners freed, they'd be out on the streets. The only reason he's still in a prison cell right now is because he chose to be there. Somehow, this is part of his scheme."

He looked down at Lottie and her eyes connected with his, making his heart thump as he took a deep breath. He didn't know what Moriarty was planning, but he would find out, and he would keep the people he cared most for safe. He would keep Lottie safe.


	16. Now I'm In A Position To Be A Stalker

Sherlock stood looking out his bedroom window. The rare London sun was showing itself but it wasn't exactly warm out. He hadn't dressed yet, and he didn't have any immediate plans to be dressed, seeing as he didn't have any immediate plans to go anywhere. His mind was on Moriarty and the trial and its two possible outcomes. He was prepared for either, simply waiting for the verdict. A soft knock on his bedroom door told him that Lottie was just outside and about to join him. He looked back as her figure stepped inside, dressed in court clothes again with stocking feet under a posh dress and her hair clipped out of her face. She sat down on the edge of his bed and took a deep breath, looking up at him.

"Sherlock, why am I doing this?" she said. He scanned her frame, observing her body language. He knew she didn't want to do this, at least not alone, even if John was going with her. He could see the love she had for John, but it was different; the way she looked at John was different than the way she looked at him and part of him wondered if she would feel better if he went with them. But he knew he couldn't, not after his little mishap at the last trial, and he hated it. He wanted to go with her, to be with her. He took a seat next to her.

"I know he scares you, but John will be there."

"But you won't."

A rare Sherlock smile graced his lips as his hypothesis proved itself correct. He felt the blood rush to his cheeks and he licked his lips, "No, I won't, but…"

He paused, his mind returned to the thoughts he'd been mulling over just before Lottie had joined him. One of the two outcomes would put Lottie in danger if she were to stay here with him, no matter how much he wanted her here with him, he couldn't risk that. And he couldn't tell her that this outcome was almost guaranteed likely to happen. He knew Moriarty had something planned, and this had to be a part of it, though he was still working out some of the details. He felt something tingle in the palm of his hand and he looked down to see Lottie snaking her hand into his, intertwining their fingers together and laying her head on his shoulder. He looking over at her and after a beat, he clasped her hand with his fingers, letting his thumb caress the back of her hand. He never knew something like this could fit so perfect and for a moment, they sat in the silence. Lottie closed her eyes, taking in Sherlock's presence and trying her best to preserve it in her memory. Yes, John would be there, but this was different, and both of them knew that, though neither were willing to admit out loud. Sherlock sighed.

"I need you to stay with John. No matter what. I don't want you here when…if they let him go."

Something in his voice relayed his urgency about her safety and she nodded. She would do as Sherlock asked, knowing how he operated after a solid year of almost constant contact. She would go with John to the courthouse to hear the verdict of James Moriarty and she and John would stick together. Sherlock may not have said it, but she knew he was worried about the both of them. John was as close to a friend as anything, no matter what either of them said. Something was also telling her that Sherlock already knew what the verdict would be and that whatever it was Moriarty's handiwork.

At the courthouse, John and Lottie sat in the gallery, listening to anything and everything that anybody had to say and gathering as much information as possible. To their surprise Moriarty's defense called no witnesses and presented no evidence against his plea of innocence. Lottie furrowed her eyebrows at this, examining the room and its inhabitants. She sat up straighter, as did John, both of them ready to take action. He'd been watching the trial intently, not saying a word and taking everything in. She started wringing her hands together anxiously, taking deep breaths. Something wasn't right. A movement caught her eye and she glanced down only to have Moriarty catch her eye. He was looking back at her from his defense seat, handcuffs around his wrists, dressed in a nice suit with his black hair slicked back, and smiling maniacally at her. He gave her a wink, deliberately chewing on his gum and Lottie couldn't look away. She feel her anxiety build up in her throat and she was on her feet as soon as the judge dismissed the room, speeding out into the hall with John on her heels.

"Lottie, are you all right?" John said once they were out in the hall.

"I'm fine. I just…" she trailed off. She hated that Moriarty got to her like this. She should've just stayed with John and Sherlock that day, maybe then Moriarty wouldn't have gotten to her and she wouldn't get this worked up. But the more she thought about the more she knew, she knew better. He wanted to get at Sherlock, he would've found her either way. She sighed and took a seat on a nearby bench. John sat beside her.

"I know." He said. She leaned into him and he rubbed her arms, keeping her calm. He was always so good to her, such an amazing friend. She was so glad it was him that helped her move her stuff in that fateful day. She linked arms with him, holding onto his suit sleeve while they waited for the final verdict. They were startled when the judge went rushing past them and both of them sat up confused.

"Coming back." He told them. John looked down at his watch.

"That was six minutes."

"Surprised it took them that long, to be honest. There was queue for the loo."

He disappeared into the courtroom and, with a deep breath, John and Lottie stood, neither of them knowing what to expect when they stepped back into that room. They started walking towards the door and Lottie grabbed John's hand to which he gave a reassuring squeeze; mostly for her, but also to reassure himself. This answer would tell them what they were up against. No matter how much they thought they knew about Jim Moriarty, this could only be the beginning.

They found their seats and waited impatiently for the rest of the room to do the same. Once the jury was settled, the judge asked for their final judgment. Lottie held her breath and she knew she was crushing John's hand be he didn't seem to mind. The words out of the foreman's mouth made her heart drop into her stomach.

"Not guilty."

Lottie covered her mouth, sucking in a breath. There was no way. This was a joke. He had no evidence, no defense. People around her started to get to their feet and she was whipping her head around in a panic, catching a glimpse of Moriarty's malicious grin that was plastered on his face while he was watching her every move. Her eyes went wide in fear and before she really knew what was happening John was dragging her out onto the streets of London, dodging reporters asking about the case and where Sherlock was. She felt as if she was in a daze that took her almost two blocks to shake and John was speaking feverishly to her but all she could hear was that he was going to call Sherlock and when she looked over at him he had the phone to his ear.

"Not guilty." He was saying, "They found him not guilty. No defense and Moriarty's walked free…Sherlock? Are you listening? He's out. You know he'll be coming after you. Sherlock?"

He put his phone down, shaking his head. Lottie was doing her best to keep up with his quick pace, "What did he say?"

"He hung up on me."

They exchanged a look and John immediately hailed a cab. However when they got back to the flat, Sherlock was up, dressed, and composing by the window. There was a tray of a full tea set with half drank tea for two setting on his side table and he glanced at them without a word. An apple, with a small pocket knife stabbed into the bottom of it like a stick, was sat on the arm of his chair and he watched Lottie picked it up, turning it in her fingers. 'I O U' was carved into the other side, with the 'O' as a large bite. She locked eyes with Sherlock but he said nothing and merely went back to composing.


	17. Keep You Sheltered From All I've Done

Lottie walked down the streets of London at a quickened pace. Sherlock didn't like her out by herself, and frankly neither did John, but neither of them would go out to the shops with her. They would rarely let her or Mrs. Hudson out of their sight ever since they let Moriarty walk free. She completely understood the reasoning, but they were getting a little over the top. Sherlock wouldn't discuss who's was the other cup of tea the day the jury deemed Moriarty not guilty, but everyone knew it was him. The matter wasn't brought up and for two months things were quiet, well, quiet enough. Something had always seemed off to Lottie ever since that day, but she tucked it away. Sherlock didn't want to talk about and she knew better than to bring it up.

She stopped off at an ATM to pull out a bit more cash, pressing in her four digit code at the machine only to get what she thought was an automated message pop up on the screen.

'There is a problem with your card. Please wait.

Thank you for your patience, Charlotte.'

She froze on the spot. That was not an automated ATM response. She started to glance at her surrounds, alert, not knowing what to expect when a sleek, black car pulled up just behind her and she turned just as a sharp dressed man stepped out to open the door for her. He was wearing an earpiece and sunglasses and Lottie furrowed her eyebrows. Was this man from the government? When she didn't make a move to get into the car he moved his hand to offer her the back seat, addressing her specifically. Her heart was racing and she was wishing with all her might that she hadn't been so stubborn and had just done what John and Sherlock asked and stayed with them in the flat. She cautiously stepped into the vehicle and once the door was shut and the man was back in the driver's seat, she was taken to a place called The Diogenes Club, where the man came to open the door for her and drove away once she was just outside the front door. She peeked inside the building but before she could even get fully inside she was being escorted upstairs, roughly and by men dressed in suits but their hands and feet were donned with rubber gloves and hospital booties and their mouths were covered with surgical masks. They took her to a large office and dropped her off and she looked back at them with an even more distasteful look that John gave Sherlock when he was being "a dick" in the words of her dear friend. She adjusted her clothes, most of her fear gone with a good feeling that this wasn't Moriarty's handiwork. If it was him, she'd probably be close to death by now. She had a feeling she knew who had summoned her here, and the next voice she heard confirmed her suspicions.

"Miss Blakely. Please, take a seat." Came Mycroft Holmes uppity voice from across the room. She rolled her eyes and plopped down in the seat as Mycroft came into the light to pour them a bit of whiskey. She cocked an eyebrow at his actions.

"It's a little early for a drink, isn't it?" she said. He merely glanced at her and his eyes told her that he seemed to be regretting his choice of summoning her here. She smirked.

""Tradition, Miss Blakely."

"I'm sorry?" she took the glass that he offered her.

"Our traditions define us."

She made a face and gave a gentle shake of her head, trying to remain calm, "Do you know you scared the shit out of me? I have a phone, you know. Couldn't you have just called and asked me over for a drink?"

"It's for the best, believe me." He poured himself a glass, "And more over, I don't think my brother would've appreciated it."

"And you think this is any better?" she picked up a newspaper detailing all the juicy gossip on Sherlock and Moriarty that was sitting on the table in between them, trying to hide her embarrassment. She held up the paper, "You read this?"

"Caught my eye." He took a seat across from her."

"I'm sure." She eyed him and opened up the paper.

"Saturday, they're doing a big expose."

Lottie skimmed the paper and her attention was drawn to the picture of the author of the article, a woman called Kitty Riley. She pulled the paper closer to her face to get a better look, "I know her from somewhere…I wonder where she got this information from."

"Someone called Brook." Mycroft smiled, "Recognize the name?"

She shook her head absentmindedly, racking her brain to try and remember where she'd seen this girl, "Says here he's a 'close friend'?"

Mycroft laughed, "Of Sherlock's?"

She glared at him over the top of the paper, collapsing it into her lap, "Why am I here, Mycroft?"

He looked at her and stood, striding over to the desk behind his chair to grab a file, handing it to her from beside his chair. She eyed him and opened the file hesitantly, letting her eyes scan the documents inside. There were a couple of photos of a man she'd never seen before paper clipped to some very official looking papers that Lottie felt she shouldn't be looking at, but taking it all in she still wasn't sure why he'd brought her here.

"Who is this?" she said.

"Don't know him?" Mycroft's voice rose in a taunting matter and she had the overwhelming urge to punch him.

"No."

"Never seen his face before?"

"Nope."

"He's taken a flat in Baker Street two doors down from you."

"Oh. John was thinking of doing a drinks thing for the neighbors."

"I'm not sure he'll want to."

She furrowed her eyebrows, "Why?"

He nodded his head towards the file in her hands, "Sulejmani. Albanian hit squad. Expertly trained killer, living less than 20 feet from your front door."

The color drained from Lottie's face but she tried not to show her fear. She cleared her throat, looking back down at the file so she wouldn't have to make eye contact with Mycroft, "Lovely. What's it got to do with me?"

"Dyachenko, Ludmila." He handed her another file and she thinned her lips, gripping it in her hands as she glanced at the photos. To her surprise, she recognized the woman he was showing her.

"Wait, I think I have seen her before."

"Russian killer. She's taken the flat opposite."

"Okay." she sounded out the vowels slowly, buying her time to try and sort things out in her brain. By that point she was really wishing Sherlock and John were here, "So what are they trying to do surround us?"

"Four top international assassins relocate to within spitting distance of 221b." he threw the rest of the files into her lap and she jumped. She hadn't realized her nerves were that bad until then and she reluctantly picked up the documents, glancing at a few of them and taking in the faces of her new killer neighbors. So what did Mycroft want her to do about it? Tell Sherlock? Or John? So why didn't he just call them? She was about to ask him to explain further, even if it meant getting a very downgrading gaze, she wanted to understand, to keep her friends safe. Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she pulled it out to read the message. It was from Sherlock.

' _Where are you? I told you it wasn't safe._

_-SH'_

She stared at it for a moment longer, debating on replying, but Mycroft's voice brought her back to the situation at hand, "Anything you care to share with me?"

She took a short deep breath, holding a few moments before speaking, "We're moving?"

"It's not hard to guess the common denominator, is it?"

She set her phone down on the table next to her without replying, blinking her eyes and taking in Mycroft's words. She knew what he was thinking, and she knew he was probably right, but she was wishing with all of her might that it wasn't true, "You think this is Moriarty?"

"He promised Sherlock he'd come back."

"Yes, I know, but,"

"If not Moriarty, then who?"

She was trying to keep her breathing even; putting on a good face but his degrading tone was putting her off. She narrowed her eyes at him and slammed his files shut into her lap, leaning her elbows on them, trying her very best to get more answers out of him, "Why don't you talk to Sherlock about this if you're so concerned about him?"

He looked at her, but not directly. The dominance was gone and he seemed to look right through her. She shook her head, thinning her lips, "That's what I thought."

"Too much history between us, Miss Blakely." He ran his finger along the edge of his whiskey glass, glancing up at her out of the corner of his eyes, "Old scores, resentments."

Her shoulders slumped in disbelief and her eyebrows rose with the biggest attitude, "You've got to be joking."

He gave her a very serious look and she rolled her eyes, tossing the files onto the table, "We're done here."

She stood and was about to pick up her phone just as it buzzed with another new message from Sherlock. He was threatening his case solving skills on her again and it almost put a smile on her face, but Mycroft's voice brought her bitterness right back to the surface.

"You know what's coming, don't you, Charlotte? Moriarty is obsessed; he's sworn to destroy his only rival."

She sighed, looking at him with a sense of knowing. He was completely right, even if she was trying to ignore it. Moriarty was a psychopath who would stop at nothing to take down Sherlock Holmes. She was about to finally give in, do what Mycroft wanted, but the next words out of his mouth put her off in a way that didn't set right with any of her values and she looked at him with an almost offensive gaze.

"He listens to you, Miss Blakely."

Her emotions went haywire. His tone was insulting but part of her was somewhat flattered at his comment, seeing as Sherlock didn't listen to anybody unless it was information for a case, or some cases John. Sherlock had told her that, that he listens to her, and she didn't need or want to hear it from Mycroft, who, from what she understood, was only using her to get to his own brother.

"So you're just using me to help your brother because he won't accept help directly from you?"

"If it's not too much trouble."

This was astounding. Lottie didn't know what to think, so when her phone buzzed for the third time she left the room without another word. She looked down at the message from John this time, claiming that Sherlock was putting on his scarf. She scurried to type a reply that she was on her way home, forgetting all about her trip to the shops. This was enough for one day. She hailed a cab as soon as she was outside on a main road to take her back to Baker Street, sitting in silence the whole trip back. She sat running over her conversation with Mycroft over and over until she felt like it would all stick. If she was honest she'd probably talk to John about it later; bouncing her thoughts back and forth with him always made her feel better.

When she reached the flat she paid the cabbie and stepped outside of the car, but as soon as her foot hit the pavement she knew something was different. Something wasn't right. She felt scared and unsafe, two things she'd only ever felt at Baker Street twice, both times she was being kidnapped. It hit her in that moment that she never thought she'd ever be kidnapped and here she stood after it having happened twice. She observed the people around her, wondering if she'd be able to spot the killers that Mycroft had shown her pictures of, but something else caught her eye: an envelope that was sat leaned up against the doorframe to 221b. She bent down to pick it up, running her fingers over the fancy red seal the held the envelope closed. There was no return address, or send to address for that matter and she looked around, perplexed and in vain. She knew whoever left it was long gone by now. She took in a breath and ripped it open, her eyes wide with confusion at the crumbled substance pouring out onto the concrete. She poured little in her hand and brought it closer to her eyes.

"Bread crumbs?" she muttered.

"Excuse me."

She jumped at a man's words and apologized as she stepped back out of his way. She watched confounded while he set up a latter just inside the door, shaking her head in the light of her day simply getting weirder and weirder. She pocketed the envelope and bounded up the stairs to the boys' flat.

"Sherlock?" she said.

"Charlotte Blakely, what did I tell you?" Sherlock stopped her just before she got inside the living room, holding both of her shoulders directly in front of him. She collected herself and held onto his forearms to calm him down.

"Well, you and John wouldn't go to the shops with me."

He released her and gave her a look, "Why would you want to do that?"

He started back into the room and she lifted her arms in defeat. She just couldn't win today. She followed him inside where John, Lestrade, and, much to Lottie's dismay, Sgt. Donovan were standing around the desk with files scattered about. Lottie never liked Donovan; she seemed snobbish. She looked around and approached John as Sherlock took a seat at his desk.

"What's going on?" she whispered.

"Kidnapping." He replied.

"Rufus Bruhl, the Ambassador to the US." Lestrade said.

"He's in Washington, isn't he?"

"Not him. His children. Max and Claudette. Aged seven and nine. They're at St. Aidate's."

"Isn't that the posh boarding place down in Surrey?" Lottie asked, looking at the photos of the children that Donovan held up for her.

"Yes." Lestrade confirmed, "School broke up. All the other boarders went home. Just a few kids remained, including those two."

"The kids have vanished." Donovan added. Lottie resisted the urge to mock her but apparently her face didn't hide it very well. Sherlock scoffed and she looked over to see him watching her. She smirked.

"The Ambassador's asked for you personally." Lestrade said. Sherlock stood and started out the door, ignoring Donovan's comment, calling him the "Reichanbach Hero". He turned Lottie to walk with him and John was right on their heels with the other two just behind him.

"Glad you feel the same way." Sherlock muttered once they were down the stairs. Lottie looked up at him to see him smirking, obviously at her failed attempt to hide her hatred for this Donovan lady. She gave him a dimply grin and he helped her into Lestrade's car with the rest of their group piling in around them. Once they reached the boarding place and everyone was out of the vehicle, stretching their legs, Lestrade led Sherlock over to the Head Mistress. While they were standing there, John approached her and she smiled at him. They both leaned on Lestrade's car with their arms crossed.

"Where were you today?" John asked. Lottie hesitated and he looked down at her. She never hesitated with him, and now she wasn't even looking at him. She was watching Sherlock speak with Lestrade about this case. John was starting to worry, "Lottie? What happened today?"

"Mycroft found me." She still didn't look at him and he hung his head, knowing exactly what she was talking about. The amount of times the eldest Holmes brother had picked him up off of the streets was unreal.

"What did he say this time?"

"He wanted me to warn Sherlock."

"Warn him about what?"

"I don't mean to frighten you, but," she looked up at him, "Our flat is surrounded by elite assassins."

He pursed his lips and nodded his head. Lottie watched his reactions and she knew he was struggling with it, just like she was. Across the courtyard, Sherlock's voice rose to an angry tone, bringing their attention and everyone else's as well, to him. He was standing right in front of the Head Mistress, yelling in her face. Poor lady looked scared to death.

"Miss Mackenzie. You're in charge of pupil welfare, yet you left this place wide open last night! What are you, an idiot, a drunk or a criminal?" he yanked the blanket from the poor woman's shoulders, "Now, quickly, tell me!"

"All the doors and windows were properly bolted. No one, not even me, went into their room last night. You have to believe me!"

Sherlock's composure softened at her reply and be bent down to speak with a much gentler tone, "I do. I just wanted you to speak quickly. Miss Mackenzie will need to breathe into a bag now."

He walked off towards the building and Lottie let her hands fall to her sides, sloughing against the car. This was going to be a long day. John took in a deep breath and urged her to walk with him after Sherlock into St. Aidate's. Once they were caught up to him, Lottie jogged to catch up to Sherlock's long strides.

"I'm going to beat you." she whispered to him, letting the rest of their crew fall just behind them. He glanced down at her.

"I knew she would take more time than necessary. I needed to speed up the process."

"Of course you did."

He smirked and pushed open the door to the girls' room, full of beds and the walls were painted pink, he let Lottie step inside first before joining her. Lestrade, John, and Donovan weren't too far behind.

"Six grand a term, you'd expect them to keep the kids safe for you." John said.

"Something tells me no matter how much they paid, whoever did this would've got what they came for." Lottie glanced at John and Sherlock watched this connection with interest. The two of them were keeping something from him. He shook his head, trying not to think about it but in his mind palace, Lottie was making herself known, distracting him from his work. He knelt down beside the real Lottie's feet to look under the missing girl's bed while she peeked into the cabinet.

"So the other kids had all left on their holidays?" John questioned.

"They were the only two sleeping on this floor." Lestrade replied, "Absolutely no sign of a break-in. The intruder must have been hidden inside someplace."

Sherlock got to his feet and opened up the toy trunk at the end of the bed, finding a large envelope with a fancy red seal that had been broken. He examined it before letting its contents slide out into his hand. Lottie stood next to him.

"Grimm's Fairy Tales?" she questioned. He flipped through the pages once before handing both the book and envelope to her.

"Show me where the brother slept." He said, walking away, out of the room and down the hall. Lottie was about to follow but something caught her eye and she looked down at the objects in her hands. That seal, where had she seen that before? She ran her fingers across it but she still couldn't figure out where she'd seen it before.

"Lottie? Coming?"

She looked up at John's voice and realized that they'd all left, except for John who was waiting for her just out in the hall. She stuffed the book inside the envelope and wrapped her arms around it, following him out of the room and down the hall to one of the boys' rooms. It was set up just like the girls, only painted blue. Sherlock was standing next to the missing boy's bed, facing the door where Lottie and John had just walked through.

"Boy sleeps there every night," he started, "gazing at the only light source, outside in the corridor. He'd recognize every shape, every outline. The silhouette of everyone who came to the door."

"Okay, so?" Lestrade questioned. Sherlock looked at him.

"So someone approaches the door who he doesn't recognize. An intruder. Maybe he an even see the outline of a weapon." He stepped just outside the room, closing the door behind him and holding his hand up like a gun to the window to demonstrate his point. He came back inside and began to look around at the boy's things, "What would he do in the precious few seconds before they came into the room? How would he use them, if not to cry out? This little boy, this particular little boy, who reads all those spy books. What would he do?"

"He'd leave a sign." Lottie said.

Sherlock began to sniff around the room, literally. He picked up a few toys until something caught scent of something, furrowing his eyebrows and getting to his knees on the other side of the bed. He reached under the frame and pulled out a half empty bottle of something that Lottie didn't recognize, but the reality of his find was apparent in Sherlock's face and the urgency in his voice when he spoke.

"Get Anderson."


	18. I'm Thinking That I'm Unaware

Lottie could not believe what she was seeing. Lestrade had called for Anderson and his forensics team to close up all the windows so that no sunlight came in and they turned all the lights off, supplying as many people as possible with black lights. Sherlock held up his light to the wall next to the boy's bed where the words "HELP US" were glowing bright. Lottie covered her mouth in fear, fear for these children who had been caught up in all of this. Anderson ran into her and kept moving into the room without apologizing. She glared at him.

"Linseed oil." Sherlock explained. He followed the trail down onto the floor where his light revealed several sets of footprints leading out of the room and into the hall.

"Not much use." Anderson commented, "Doesn't lead us to the kidnapper."

Lottie rolled her eyes, as did Sherlock, "Brilliant, Anderson."

"Really?"

"Yes, brilliant impression of an idiot."

Lottie couldn't help the bit of laughter that escaped her lips but suddenly all eyes were on her. She cleared her throat, giving a muttered apology and scooting closer to John. Sherlock bent down to the floor to examine the footprints.

"The floor." He said.

"He made a trail for us." John said.

"The boy was made to walk ahead of them."

"On tiptoe?"

"Indicates anxiety." He followed the trail out into the hall with everyone else just behind him, "Gun held to his head. The girl was pulled beside him, dragged sideways. He had his left arm cradled about her neck."

The trail died off and he stopped, standing up straight. Anderson did the same, "That's the end of it. We don't know where they went from here. Tells us nothing after all."

"Good god, you're so dead set on proving him wrong aren't you?" Lottie spat. She'd had enough of his pessimism, it was driving her bonkers and he looked at her surprised but her outburst. She was about to put in a few more not so nice words but Sherlock stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

"No, he's right, Lottie. Nothing." He said, pausing for dramatic effect before taking a deep breath, "Except his she size, his height, his gait, his walking pace."

Lottie smiled triumphantly as he tore down the board that stopped the light from coming through the window next to them. She turned to Anderson as he rolled his eyes and walked away, obviously annoyed but she didn't care. Lestrade was beginning to be the only person she liked in the police department. A bunch of know-it-alls. Behind her, Sherlock kneeled down to one of the footprints, chuckling to himself as John approached the two of them. Lottie smiled at him but his disapproving expression made her take a step back, looked away as he squatted down next to his flat mate, who had brought out a small kit to take samples of the footprint.

"Having fun?" John asked.

"Starting to." Sherlock replied.

"Maybe don't do the smiling. Kidnapped children?"

John stood and Sherlock paused, looking up at Lottie. She made a face and shrugged as he continued to scrape up part of the floor where the kidnapper had stepped. Once he was finished the three of them caught a cab back to London, discussing the case once they were moving.

"How did he get passed the CCTV?" John questioned, trying to wrap his head around the situation at hand, "If all the doors were locked."

"He walked in when they weren't locked." Sherlock said as if it was obvious.

"Yeah, but I didn't think a stranger could just walk into a school like that. Especially a posh one like St. Aidet's." Lottie said.

"Anyone can walk in anywhere if they pick the right moment. Yesterday, end of term, parents milling around, chauffeurs, staff. What's one more stranger among that lot?"

Lottie sat back in her seat, "He was waiting for them."

"All he had to do was find a place to hide."

The ride grew silent and they got out at St. Bart's, heading straight for Molly's lab, running into her in one of the hallways on the way there. She jumped when they came through the hall door.

"Molly!" Sherlock greeted.

"Oh, hello. I'm just getting out." She said.

Sherlock turned her back around, "No you're not."

"I've got a lunch date."

"Cancel it. You're having lunch with me."

"What?"

He pulled three bags of crisps from his pockets, "Need your help. It's one of your boyfriends, we're trying to track him down. He's been a bit naughty."

"It's Moriarty?" John said.

"Of course it's Moriarty."

Mycroft's words suddenly sprang into Lottie's mind as Sherlock opened the door to the lab. He was right, Moriarty was coming for Sherlock. She considered speaking up, trying to find the right words but nothing was coming to mind. She could feel herself getting anxious and twitchy, but now just wasn't the right time.

"Jim wasn't even my boyfriend." Molly said, stopping the boys and bringing Lottie out of her thoughts, "We went out three times. I ended it."

"I totally forgot about that." Lottie muttered, mostly to herself. She wondered how that felt, dating Jim Moriarty, especially after the events that had recently been brought to light. She shook her head, trying not to think about it.

"Yes, and then he stole the Crown Jewels, broke into the Bank of England and organized a prison break at Pentonville." Sherlock reminded her, "For the sake of law and order I suggest you avoid all future attempts at a relationship, Molly."

He stepped through the doors and, after a beat, so did John, leaving Lottie flabbergasted at Sherlock's comment and standing alone with Molly. The two of them exchanged looks and Lottie cleared her throat, still feeling a little awkward since not really having seen her since the events of the Christmas party on Baker Street, but they were trying their best. Lottie fought the urge to smack Sherlock across his ever so prominent cheekbones and sighed, urging Molly to come with her into the lab.

* * *

In the lab Sherlock and John had already settled in, their coats tossed over on the side table and Sherlock had his samples laid out before him. He looked up when the girls entered the room and immediately sent them back out to gather up some books and documents around the hospital. They gave him a look but they should've known he wouldn't even notice and with an exasperated sigh they did as requested, coming back into the lab half an hour later, struggling through the door with large stacks of files and binders and books and slamming them down on the nearest table, a little out of breath.

"Oil, John." Sherlock was saying, opening the container holding his footprint sample, "The oil in the kidnapper's footprint. It'll lead us to Moriarty. All the chemical traces on his shoe have been preserved. The sole of the shoe is like a passport. If we're lucky, we can see everything that he's been up to."

Molly and Lottie glanced at each other and just like that everyone got straight to work. Lottie spent most of her time trying to help Molly in any way that she could. She didn't know much about science, never was really her forte, and she really didn't know much of the technical terms for any of the instruments that Molly needed, but she did the best she could, learning as she went.

"I need that analysis." Sherlock called out. The girls looked up from their work and Molly awkwardly offered to go relay their findings. Lottie smiled encouragingly and continued with her job that Molly had given her. She really couldn't' stand the awkwardness between them. She hated awkwardness in general, it made her uneasy and she would really like to clear things up if she ever got the chance but for now she would just have to deal with it.

"Alkaline." Molly told Sherlock, standing next to him and leaving her findings next to his microscope.

"Thank you, Lottie."

Lottie's eyes went wide and she glanced over out of the corner of her eyes. Sherlock wasn't even looking at the poor girl. Molly took a small breath, closing her eyes in frustration, making Lottie cringe. This was not helping.

"Molly." She corrected.

"Yes." Was Sherlock's uninterested reply. Molly returned to the table that they were working at with not so much as a glimpse at Lottie. The redhead watched her with wary eyes and wary movements. She didn't know her that well, but she knew her well enough to be careful when she was frustrated. Lottie swallowed, racking her brain for the right thing to say or if to even say anything at all. She sucked in a breath.

"Don't worry, he's like that with everybody."

"Not with you." Molly's words were short and she didn't look at her, simply continuing to spit out orders at her. Lottie was a little taken off guard but she did as she was told and kept her mouth shut, glancing over at Sherlock who seemed as if his eyes were glued to that microscope. She understood why Molly was upset and knew not to push it but she just wished there was something she could do even though she knew it was pointless. John called her out of her thoughts and she glanced at Molly, almost to ask her permission but she was zoned into what she was working with and Lottie simply slipped away, secretly happy to be away from the tense air that surrounded them. Once she left, Molly looked up and brought over a few more of her outcomes to Sherlock, who was thumping his fingers on the microscope and muttering to himself.

"I…O…U…" he looked down at some of his notes, "Glycerol molecule. What are you?"

He returned to the microscope and Molly spoke hesitantly, "What did you mean, 'I owe you'?"

When he didn't answer she looked up at him, "You said, 'I owe you'. You were muttering it while you were working."

"Nothing. Mental note." Came his quick answer. His tone sounded irritated and she cleared her throat, building up a little more courage to speak again.

"You're a bit like my dad. He's dead. Oh, sorry."

"Molly, please don't feel the need to make conversation. It's not really your area."

She ignored his comment and continued anyway, determined to speak her peace, "When he was dying, he was always cheerful, he was lovely. Except when he thought no one could see. I saw him once. He looked sad."

"Molly…" Sherlock warned. He didn't like where this was going.

"You look sad. When you think they can't see you."

His eyes moved to look at where John and Lottie were leaned over some of the documents they had laid out on the other side of the lab. He hesitantly turned his head to face Molly, searching her face for her motives, but he found it more difficult than usual, almost on the same level as his ongoing turmoil dealing with his feelings for Lottie.

"Are you okay?" she said, "And don't just say you are, because I know what that means, looking sad when you think no one can see you."

He at least saw one thing: "You can see me."

"I don't count. Not with…" she cleared her throat, glancing at Lottie across the room and looking away, "What I'm trying to say is that if there's anything I can do, anything you need, anything at all, you can have me. No, I just mean…I mean, if there's anything you need. It's fine."

"But what could I need from you?"

"Nothing. I don't know. But you could probably say thank you, actually."

Sherlock's mouth twitched in thought, "Thank you." It was almost a question.

Molly walked around to his other side, speaking with a nervous stutter, "I'm just going to go and get some crisps. Do you want anything? It's okay. I know you don't."

"Well, actually, maybe I'll…"

"I know you don't."

She cut him off before he could answer her and he watched her go with questioning eyes, letting her small but brave confession sink in. She stopped at the door and Sherlock was surprised to note the intense, but sad gaze between her and Lottie. Lottie tried to give her a smile but Molly looked away and exited the lab. Sherlock's attention was drawn to Lottie as she bit her lip and he made a mental note to asker her about the two of them later and returned to his microscope. Lottie sighed, leaning her hip on the table next to her, almost knocking some of the photos to the floor by accident. She caught most of them then hurried to pick up the rest of them off the floor. While she was stacking them, one particular photo caught her eye and she cocked her head to the angle of the picture. It was a still of the seal found on the envelope the book was in at the school house. She picked it up and John looked up at her, noticing her perplexed expression.

"Everything all right?" he said.

"I swear, I've seen this before, but I can't for the life of me…" her voice trailed off and John could see something click in her brain. She started for her coat, frantically searching her pockets, "Sherlock?"

"Hmm?" he said.

"The envelope from the girl's trunk, the fairy tale book. There's another one."

"What?"

"On our doorstep. Found it this morning." She pulled it out and examined it next to the photo from the crime scene. They were a match, "See – exact same fancy red seal."

She brought it over to him and handed over the envelope and the photo from St. Audit's. John leaned over the edge of the counter across from them while Sherlock pulled some of the contents from inside, rubbing it between his fingers.

"Is that bread crumbs?" John questioned.

"Yeah, it was there when I got back from…the shops."

Sherlock glanced at her, noticing her hesitation about where she was but he ignored it, more concerned about this new discovery. He furrowed his eyebrows and let his mind explore the different possibilities, "A little trace of bread crumbs, hardback copy of fairy tales. Two children led into the forest by a wicked father follow a little trail of bread crumbs."

"That's Hansel and Gretel."

"What sort of kidnapper leaves clues?" John said.

"The sort that likes to boast." Sherlock said, "The sort that thinks it's all a game. He sat in our flat and he said these exact words to me: 'All fairy tales need a good old-fashioned villain.' The fifth substance. It's part of the tale. The witch's house. The glycerol molecule. PGPR."

"What's that?" Lottie asked.

Sherlock stood from his seat, "It's used in making chocolate."

John and Lottie looked at each other and hurried to grab their things, all but running to keep up with Sherlock who was already halfway down the hall. Just outside the building he was already hailing a cab to Scotland Yard. When they got there, they met Lestrade in his office.

"This fax arrived an hour ago." He handed Sherlock a handwritten piece of paper that had 'HURRY UP THEY'RE DYING!' written in big black letters. He read it and passed it on to John and Lottie.

"What have you got for us?" Lestrade asked.

"We need to find a place in the city where all five of these things intersect." Sherlock replied, handing over his list. Lestrade glanced over it.

"Chalk, asphalt, brick dust, vegetation…and, what the hell is this? Chocolate?"

"I think we're looking for a disused sweet factory."

"We need to narrow that down. A sweet factory with asphalt?"

"No, no, no. Too general. Need something more specific, chalk, chalky clay. That's a far thinner band of geology."

Right before their eyes, Sherlock was off to his mind palace, bringing up maps of the entire city, frantically searching for where those children might be hidden. His eyes were darting all over the place; it was kind of fascinating to watch him work and Lottie found herself shamelessly staring until Lestrade groaned, all but pulling out his hair in frustration.

"There's thousands of building sites in London!" he rubbed his face with his hands.

"I've got people out looking." Sherlock started to pace the room.

"So have I!"

"Homeless network. Faster than the police. Far more relaxed about taking bribes."

His phone sounded with several messages and he smirked. With each photo he received he sorted in onto its location on the maps in his head, until one of importance made itself known. He held it up to show John and Lottie, "Rhododendron ponticom. Matches." He returned to his mind palace, narrowing places down one after the other and within a matter of seconds, he had their answer.

"Addlestone."

"What?" Lestrade looked up, obviously still behind. He was still waiting on his police men to give him an answer but Sherlock was already on the move. Lottie was having a hard time keeping up.

"There's a mile of disused factories between the river and the park. It matches everything."

The moments after that were a blur to Lottie. Sherlock took off towards the nearest exit and before she could even think John was ushering her after him. He was looking at his watch and she could hear Lestrade calling out for his team to hurry up as they all piled into police cars. With sirens wailing they sped over to Addlestone, John and Lottie seated in the backseat of the lead car with Sherlock telling the driver exactly where to go. When they arrived, flashlights were distributed and everyone split up, running frantic to find these lost kids. Lottie held her light at eye level, moving its beam to follow her gaze into the darkness of the abandoned factory. She followed Sherlock and John until they spotted a dim light, a candle that had just burned out, surrounded by candy wrappers. Sherlock felt the candle wick.

"This was alight moments ago. They're still here!" he picked up one of the wrappers to examine it, "Sweet wrappers. What's he been feeding you? Hansel and Gretel." With a sniff of the paper and furrowed eyebrows, he took one lick of the paper and contorted his face in disgust, "Mercury."

"What?" Lestrade came around the corner to join them.

"The papers, they're painted with mercury. Lethal. The more of the stuff they ate…"

"It was killing them." Lottie breathed.

"It's not enough to kill them on its own."

Lottie continued to search for the kids with a newfound determination, turning the corner and letting Sherlock's voice fade with every step she took, getting further and further away from them. She could here shuffling and a little ways ahead and she cautiously moved forward, holding her light out ahead of her. She squinted her eyes in the dim light and that's when she saw them, the two children sitting in a corner a few yards from her. The little girl looked over at her and Lottie released a breath she didn't even know she was holding. The little boy was lying down, pale and sickly and Lottie knew they didn't have much time.

"Over here!" she called out as loud as she could and hurried over to the kids, kneeling down next to them. She soothed the girl, asking simple questions in a soft voice to make sure she wasn't injured, smiling and letting her know that everything was going to be alright. She reached out to her and the girl all but jumped into her arms just as the rest of the team came running around the corner behind her. Lottie stood with the girl in her arms as the paramedics swarmed around her and she continued to sooth the little girls rapidly beating heart.

"It's all right, I've got you."

"Miss Blakely," Sargent Donovan's voice reached her ears and she turned to her.

"I've got the girl, her brother needs medical attention." Lottie ordered. Sherlock came running around the corner just as she passed them, holding onto the girl with a protective grip and the police following close behind her with the boy. Sherlock blinked, watching Lottie work with the girl, holding her hand while the paramedics got her into an ambulance. The little girl didn't want to let her go, but Lottie continued to reassure that everything was going to be all right. Sherlock's heart began to race and he knew it wasn't because of the adrenaline. If he didn't get a handle on this soon, his whole mind palace would be painted red with this girl's presence, but somehow, that just didn't seem so bad.


	19. I'm the Only One

"Right, then. The Professionals have finished if the amateurs want to go in and have their turn." Donovan entered the room John, Sherlock, and Lottie were waiting in with Lestrade right behind her. They were waiting for their chance to see the kids and obtain any information they could to catch Moriarty and Donovan was just making it more difficult than need be. Lottie rolled her eyes and got to her feet with John.

"Now, remember," Lestrade told Sherlock, "she's in shock and she's just seven years old so, anything you can do to…"

"Not be myself." He finished for him.

"Yeah. Might be helpful."

Sherlock looked over at John and Lottie and flipped his coat collar down, stepping past Lestrade and into the room where the little girl was sat. A woman was there rubbing her shoulders in comfort, probably some sort of social worker. Sherlock started to speak but before he could even get her name out of his mouth she looked up and began to scream. The amount of fear in this little girl's eyes took Lottie aback but Sherlock continued to speak and Lestrade was trying to get him to leave the room. Lottie placed her hands on his waist and pushed him back out into the hall, John following after them. They returned to the waiting room, all of them in a state of confused shock at the girl's reaction. Sherlock hadn't said a word, simply standing at the window and staring out at the London streets through the half open blinds and Lottie took a seat in a chair next to him while Donovan brought in one of the chief policemen on the case to get a briefing.

"Makes no sense." John was saying to Lestrade.

"Kid's traumatized." He replied, "Something about Sherlock reminds her of the kidnapper."

"What's she said?"

"Hasn't uttered another syllable." Sargent Donovan dismissed the policeman and joined their discussion, crossing her arms over her chest with an attitude that Lottie was just about sick of.

"And the boy?"

"No, he's unconscious." Said Lestrade, "Still in intensive care."

A flicker of lights took Lottie's attention away from their debate and she furrowed her eyebrows, looking back out the window where the flashing was coming from. The building across the street was flickering to life and Lottie blinked a few times to make sure she wasn't just seeing stars because what she was seeing was making her head spin. Across three windows, directly in their line of sight were the letters "I.O.U.", painted huge, taking up the whole window in red spray paint. Her jaw slacked and she peered up at Sherlock who was staring at the same thing she was. His eyes were wide and he looked down at her but said nothing, and neither did she.

"Well, don't let it get to you." Lestrade said, "I always feel like screaming when you walk into a room. In fact, so do most people."

Lestrade led John out of the room and Lottie stood to follow, waiting on Sherlock. The lights in the adjacent building flickered off and he slipped his hands in his pockets, turning on his heel to walk out of the room with Lottie, but Donovan stopped them.

"Brilliant work you did, finding those kids from just a footprint." She said, "It's really amazing."

Sherlock thanked her, seeming distant, as if his mind was somewhere else, distracted, but Lottie eyed Donovan with suspicious eyes. She never complimented Sherlock, on anything he ever did no matter what. Her tone was not in good spirits and Lottie knew there was something going on that they were missing and she didn't like it. Lottie linked arms with Sherlock so that her fingers were lightly draped over his forearm, about to lead him out of the room but Donovan was determined, it seemed, to keep his attention. Lottie gritted her teeth.

"Unbelievable." She said.

Lottie glanced up at Sherlock and he seemed to take Donovan's words to thought for only a moment before walking out with Lottie on his arm and this time they made it out without anymore interruptions. Out on the sidewalk, John was waiting for them and the three of them moved closer to the street so as to hail a cab and John lifted his hand to wave one down.

"You okay?" he asked Sherlock.

"Thinking." He moved swiftly to take Lottie's hand that was still holding onto his arm and as the cab pulled up he stopped John from opening the door, "This is my cab, you two get the next one."

He looked into Lottie's eyes which she was sure conveyed that she was a little hurt, but by the look in his own eyes she knew he needed his space. He even seemed a little hurt to leave her there but she gave a subtle nod and her hand slipped from his.

"Why?" John asked.

Sherlock's eyes shifted to him, "You might talk."

He got in the cab and Lottie and John were left alone on the sidewalk. John sighed in frustration and turned to Lottie, unsure where to go or what to do. Lottie was staring after the cab, holding her jacket closer to her frame to protect herself against the wind and John cleared his throat to get her attention. She turned to him with her eyebrows raised.

"Why does he do that?" he asked. She gave a small smile and shook her head.

"You know how he is. Now, come on. Let's get another cab or we'll never be able to catch up to him." she waved her hand for the next cab and he scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"I've been trying to catch up to him since the day I met him."

She couldn't help but smile as the cab pulled around to pick them up and the two of them scrambled into the backseat. They instructed the driver to simply follow Sherlock's and they sat back in their seats, silent save for the soft radio coming from the front of the cab. After a few moments, John looked over at Lottie, looking her up and down as she gazed out the window. She looked as if she was deep in thought and he turned his body to face her. This was the first time he'd got a chance to really sit down and talk to her since the day of the verdict and he was starting to get concerned. With all of his commotion she looked over at him, wondering what in the hell he was doing.

"You look like you've got something on your mind." He said. She looked at him with innocent eyes and he shook his head, "No, I know that look. What's wrong?"

She watched him a moment, not saying anything, controlling her breathing. John waited patiently. God, he was such a good man. Yeah, he had his issues, but who didn't? She could always talk to him and he was always there, watching out for her. She looked down at her clammy hands and bit her lip, gathering her thoughts for a moment more before speaking, "I spoke with Mycroft."

"What, when?"

"This morning. That's where I was. He," she paused, choosing her words, "Kidnapped me? I don't know."

John sighed, closing his eyes and hanging his head and she looked confused. He shook his head, "He's done this to me several times before; it's starting to become normal. What did he say?"

She recounted to him everything that Mycroft had told her, shown her, and warned her about. Told him about the assassins that had surrounded 221b Baker Street and his spot on guess that it was Moriarty's doing. She told him about his reluctance to help his own brother directly and her irritation towards the act. She took a breath when she'd finished, not having realized how fast she was speaking and without a break to breathe, "He was really concerned about Moriarty."

"Well, yeah, I think we all are."

"No, this was different. Like,"

She stopped when they heard three gunshots go off, looking around frantically, unsure of where exactly they were from not having paid attention while Lottie was telling her story. The cab turned the next corner and they saw Sherlock standing over a man's body on the other side of the road. Lottie covered her mouth in fear and John demanded the cabbie stop the car, both of them scrambling out of their seats and running across the street. Lottie took one look at the man lying dead on the concrete and one of Mycroft's files flashed in her mind. Her heart dropped into her stomach and her head shot up to look at Sherlock while John called the police on his mobile.

"Did he hurt you?" she called out. Sherlock looked at her with a mix of confusion and interest.

"What, no."

"Sherlock." She urged, stepping right in front of him and looking him right in the eyes. Her voice was stern, enunciating every word. She was on the brink of tears, "Did he try to kill you?"

"Charlotte, no, he saved my life. What are you going on about?"

"The ambulance is on their way." John said. Lottie and Sherlock were staring each other down, or rather, Lottie was trying to determine if he was lying to her and he was trying to understand why she was so upset. After a moment she turned away from him, from both of them, pacing and rubbing her face with her hands and Sherlock turned to John for an explanation.

"She knows something. What does she know?" There was a mix of concern and anger and a thirst for knowledge that was apparent in his tone and John sighed.

"I think your brother scared the living daylights out of her this morning."

"Mycroft? When did she speak to Mycroft?"

"Mycroft is now doing to her what he usually does to me when he wants information about you. He told her about these assassins that have moved in around Baker Street, wanted her to watch out for you. This must be one of them."

"If he wanted me to know about the assassins why didn't he just tell me himself?"

"Because, Sherlock, you don't listen to anyone else but her."

Sherlock looked over at Lottie, seated on the curb of the sidewalk. She seemed to be trying to rationalize and keep herself calm. He noted in the back of his mind that she was doing a fairly good job, considering the circumstances. That was the thing about Lottie, was that she had this issue, this issue with her nerves and her anxiety, but she didn't let it rule her life, or at least she tried not to. She actually hated it about herself and Sherlock had known that since day one, since the first time she set foot in his living room and he deduced all of her anxiety problems. However, if she wanted you to know how she was feeling, she'd let you know; and if she didn't, you'd never know. The ambulance and police arrived shortly after and he was taken away from his thoughts. The police wanted to ask him a bunch of questions that he considered useless but he obliged and they let him be. Lottie came around and he approached her, though she still seemed on edge.

"John told me about Mycroft." He said, "Are you sure that was one of them?"

"Yes, I'm sure. His name was Sulejmani or something. Mycroft showed me his files. A big Albanian gangster who lives two doors down from us." Her eyes were shifting around and he wanted so badly for her to just look at him. He'd said it before and he'd say it again, why? Why on earth was she so nervous to talk to him? He took his hand and he gently brought her face to look at him, raising his eyebrows at her. He could feel her stiffen and then relax under his touch, making him rethink his accusations. Maybe she wasn't nervous to talk to him, there was something in her eyes that told him something different that he couldn't quite place. The press was beginning to gather and camera flashes were lighting up the alleyway. He ignored them, making sure that Lottie's nerves were at least somewhat back to normal before letting his hand slip from her cheek and turning back to the scene just as John returned from speaking with one of the police officers.

"What're you thinking?" he said.

"He died because I shook his hand." Sherlock replied.

"What do you mean?"

"He saved my life, but he couldn't touch me. Why?" he placed his hand in the small of Lottie's back so that she would walk with them and John kept up on his other side. They weren't far from the flat and simply walked the rest of the way there, bounding up the stairs once they were in the building.

"Four assassins living on our doorstep. They didn't come here to kill me." Sherlock flung off his scarf and slipped out of his coat, taking a seat at his desk, "They have to keep me alive. I've got something that all of them want. But if one of them approaches me…"

"The others kill them before they can get it." John peeked out the window and Sherlock checked the Wi-Fi networks nearby on his laptop. Several of the names were in different languages, all from the appropriate countries of their new killer neighbors, "All of the attention is focused on me. There's a surveillance web closing in on us right now."

"So, what have you got that's so important?" John asked. Sherlock looked around the flat and whipped a finger across his desk.

"We need to ask about the dusting. Get Mrs. Hudson."

Lottie ran down the stairs and had their landlady come up to the boys' flat. She was already preparing for bed by this time, dressed in her nightgown and when she got there Sherlock was up frantically searching the room.

"Precise details." He was saying, "In the last week, what's been cleaned?"

"Well, Tuesday I did your lino…" Mrs. Hudson said.

"No, in here. This room. This is where we'll find it. Any break in the dust line. You can put back anything but dust. Dust is eloquent."

"What's he on about?" Mrs. Hudson leaned over to John in a whisper but he merely shrugged his shoulders. Sherlock was climbing onto one of the book cases, searching every nook and cranny of that room.

"Cameras. We're being watched."

"What? Cameras? Here?" Mrs. Hudson wrapped her robe tighter to her frame, "I'm in my nightie!"

The doorbell rang and she and John ran off to answer it while Lottie stayed to make sure Sherlock didn't hurt himself from climbing all over the furniture. He found a wobbly book and when he pushed it back out of the way a small camera made itself present. Lottie couldn't believe it, muttering to herself as a few sets of footsteps sounded behind her and forced her attention to the door where John stood with Lestrade next to him. The inspector didn't look happy and Lottie looked at him confused. What was he even doing here?

"No, inspector." Sherlock said.

"What?" Lestrade said. Sherlock took the camera and stepped down onto the floor.

"The answer is no."

"You haven't heard the question."

"You want to take me to the station. Just saving you the trouble of asking."

"Sherlock."

"The scream?" he approached the inspector, who nodded with an unwilling sigh. He did not want to do this, it was plain in his features. Sherlock looked at him with inquisitive eyes, "Who was it? Donovan? I bet it was Donovan. Am I somehow responsible for the kidnapping? Ah, Moriarty's smart. He planted that doubt in her head. That little nagging sensation you got to have to be strong to resist. You can't kill an idea, can you? Not once it's made a home," he tapped Lestrade's forehead, "There."

He took a seat at his desk and plugged the camera into its USB port. Lestrade took a deep breath, "Will you come?"

"One photograph, that's his next move. Moriarty's game. First the scream, then a photograph of me being taken in for questioning. He wants to destroy me inch by inch." He looked up at the inspector, "It is a game, Lestrade, and not one I'm willing to play. Give my regards to Sergeant Donovan."

Lottie blinked at Sherlock, taking in the situation as its intensity began to grow. She turned to Lestrade who was shaking his head, clearly fighting an internal battle seemingly with no way to win. He turned and left without a word and John peeked out the window over Lottie's shoulder, watching Lestrade and Donovan get back into the car and drive off. Sherlock glanced up at them.

"He'll be deciding." He said.

"Deciding?" Lottie asked.

"Whether to come back with a warrant and arrest me."

John looked at him, "You think?"

"Standard procedure."

"Should've gone with him."

"People are going to think." Lottie moved some of the curtains out of her field of vision, watching for any sign of suspicious persons wandering around their flat building.

"I don't care what people think." Sherlock's tone was stern.

"You'd care if they thought you were stupid or wrong."

"No, that would just make them stupid or wrong."

"Oh my god, Sherlock, I don't want the world believing you're…" her voice rose with her frustration but then she trailed off when he looked up at her expectantly. He was waiting on her to finish her thoughts, obviously having built up some emotion over the past few hours and he cocked his head when she didn't finish, his eyes narrowed, deducing her.

"That I am what?"

She took a deep breath through her nose and swallowed, "A fraud."

Sherlock's eyes opened fully and he sat back in his chair, "You're worried they're right."

"What?"

"You're worried they're right about me."

"No." she shook her head.

"That's why you're so upset, you can't even entertain the possibility that they might be right. You're afraid that you've been take in as well."

She rolled her eyes, "No, I'm not."

"Will you two just please, calm down." John stepped in, knowing how stubborn each of them could be, but his words were useless now. Sherlock's sat up, raising his voice at Lottie.

"Moriarty is playing with your mind, too. Can't you see what going on?"

He slammed his fist on the table and Lottie flinched but she held her ground. She was shaking, mostly from frustration but if she was honest, Sherlock's outburst scared her a bit. He never rose his voice at her. She held his gaze and by the look in her eyes Sherlock knew that she was only looking out for him, just like she always did. He seemed to back off a tad and John sighed, "No, I know you're for real."

Sherlock rubbed his face with his hands, "A hundred percent?"

"Nobody could fake being such an annoying dick all the time."

Sherlock looked up and a small, almost unnoticeable smile grew on Sherlock's face and Lottie stepped back to see that John was perfectly serious and after a moment, she smiled too, taking a deep breath in and out through her nose. John's phone rang and he stepped aside to answer it while Sherlock returned to messing with the camera that was still hooked up to this laptop. He kept glancing up at Lottie staring out the window, unable to rid himself of an uneasy feeling he had but unfortunately there was no time for that now. John finished on the phone with a sigh and Lottie turned to listen to what he had to say.

"So, I've still got some friends on the force. It's Lestrade. Says they're all coming over here right now. Queuing up to slap on the handcuffs, every single officer you ever made feel like a tit. Which is a lot of people."

"Yoo hoo!" Mrs. Hudson knocked on the door and all three of them directed their attention to their landlady, "Oh, sorry, am I interrupting?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked away from her, clearly annoyed past his breaking point. Mrs. Hudson had a package, a manila envelope that looked as if it'd been taken through the post several times over and she handed it over to Lottie. She turned the package over in her hands and her heart dropped when her eyes landed on the red seal that kept the envelope fastened shut. She took a breath and started to open it cautiously while Mrs. Hudson spoke.

"Some chap delivered a parcel. I forgot. Marked perishable. I had to sign for it." She said, "Funny name. German. Like the fairy tales."

Sherlock stood just as Lottie pulled the item out of its packaging: a ginger bread man, over-baked and red frosting held its legs and arms on. She looked up at Sherlock as police sirens filled her ears, lights flashing in the corner of her eyes, coming from just outside their flat. Mrs. Hudson went to go meet them at the door.

"Burnt to a crisp." Sherlock muttered.

"What does it mean?" John said. But before Sherlock could answer, their doorbell rang several times in a row, followed by violent knocking. They could hear Lestrade and Donovan arguing with Mrs. Hudson and John went down to try and calm everybody down, Lottie heard him asking if they had a warrant and she watched the stairs nervously. Sherlock turned and calmly started to wrap his scarf around his neck and slide his arms into his coat and Lottie whipped her head around at his movements. She set the package down and, much to Sherlock's surprise, wrapped her arms around his middle, burying her face in his chest. He was taken aback, unsure of what to do as she tightened her grip around him, seeming to hold on to him as if he was her only lifeline. His heart was racing and she could hear it, letting her words sink right into his chest.

"I will always stay with you."

At that he embraced her frame, holding her as if at any moment she might disappear forever. He kissed the top of her head as the police entered the room, pulling her out of his grip and, with his arms out straight, they frisked him for any weapons he might have on him and handcuffed his hands behind his back, arresting him on the suspicion of abduction and kidnapping. Lottie called out her protest, as did John while holding onto her shoulders both for his and her own good.

"Lottie, John, it's all right." Sherlock reassured them but John was having none of it.

"No, it's not all right. This is ridiculous." He argued, but Lestrade ignored him, merely giving the order to take Sherlock downstairs. The officers roughly shoved Sherlock away and Lottie called out, ordering them to watch it. It wasn't until just then that she realized how upset she was. John held onto her, trying to reason with Lestrade but it was no use. This seemed to be way out of the detector inspector's hands.

"Don't try to interfere or I shall arrest you, too." He told John. John kept quiet but he didn't like it. Lottie had silent tears pouring out her eyes and she turned into John's chest and he held her, rubbing her back and reassuring her that everything was all right. She could tell he was doing it for the both of them and that he was racking his brain for a plan, for some way to bring everything back to normal. He turned to Donovan as she entered the room. Lottie couldn't believe that she'd actually show her face around them.

"You done?" John spat. Donovan cocked her hips raising her nose to them.

"Oh, I said it. First time we met. Solving crimes won't be enough. One day, he'll cross the line. Now ask yourself, what sort of man would kidnap those kids just so he can impress us all by finding them?"

"You want to say that again?" Lottie turned to the sergeant with dark eyes, prepared to pounce when a larger man dressed in a sharp suit and glasses waltzed into the room, addressing Donovan.

"That's our man?" he asked.

"Uh, yes, sir." She replied.

"Looked a bit of a weirdo, if you ask me. Often are, these vigilante types."

Lottie stared him down, clenching her fist around John's jacket. This man had never even met Sherlock, didn't know anything about him save for what he'd read in the papers. She didn't care who he was, he was messing with the wrong trio. He looked over to see John and Lottie glaring daggers at him from where they stood and he looked them up and down, "What're you two looking at?"

Lottie took a step toward him but John stopped her and she looked at him with questioning eyes, he wasn't really going to let this man get away with that was he? But something in his eyes told Lottie he wasn't. He removed her hand from his coat and stretching his own hand, never taking his eyes off this man. Lottie knew what was about to happen and she wasn't about to hold him back.

"Don't worry, I'll handle this."

The next thing that Lottie knew she was standing outside with Mrs. Hudson watching her two best friends get slammed up against a police car with their hands cuffed behind their backs. Part of her felt she should be ashamed or disappointed but by that point she was rooting for them wholeheartedly. This whole situation had gotten out of hand and Lottie was putting her foot down. Moriarty had to be stopped and everyone was turning against the one person that could take him down. She could see John and Sherlock talking in a hushed whisper and with the way Sherlock's eyes were darting around she knew they were up to something. She leaned down to whisper in Mrs. Hudson's ear.

"Prepare for a scene."

Their landlady looked up at her, questioning what she meant but Lottie told her to stay where she was and ducked around some of the police officers that were guarding the scene. As if on cue, Sherlock reached into the police car and hit the switch to send the entire force's ear pieces into a frenzy so they were all forced to pull them out to rid themselves of the ringing. This distracted them long enough for him to grab the nearest gun and aim it at the group of people standing outside his home.

"Ladies and gentlemen, will you all please get on your knees?" he yelled, sweeping his aim over the crowd. When no one complied he lifted his arm, which Lottie had just noticed was handcuffed to John's wrist, into the air and fired two shots.

"Now would be good!" he called.

"Do as he says!" Lestrade instructed, waving his arms for everyone to lay down their weapons and comply with Sherlock's demands. Lottie bent down on her knees, looking up at John and Sherlock through her eyelashes as they began to back away from the scene. What was their plan?

"Just so you're aware, the gun is his idea," John stammered, "I'm just, uh, you know,"

"My hostage!" Sherlock switched hands so that he held the gun to John's head.

"Hostage, yes, that works."

Sherlock scanned the crowd until he found who he was looking for. Lottie was a few feet to his right and he was quick to switch hands again and pull her to her feet, claiming her as his other hostage. He did not want her out here alone with Moriarty running around, not knowing where he or John would be. He was not letting her out of his sight.

"What is my mother going to say?" Lottie breathed, staring wide-eyed at the crowd before her. Sherlock smirked.

"Is that really what you're concerned about at the moment?"

"Um, guys, what's the plan?" John urged.

"Doing what Moriarty wants. Becoming a fugitive. Run."

Lottie hadn't realized it but they had backed up all the way to the gate leading to one of the back roads by their flat and at Sherlock's command, they all turned and took off running as fast as their legs would carry them. Halfway down the street sirens started up again and Sherlock instructed John to take his hand so as to make it easier to run considering they were handcuffed together.

"Now people will definitely talk." John commented. They were cut off by a police car and were forced to take a sharp turn into the nearest dark alley.

"I don't think now is really the time, John." Lottie said. She heard the clank of the gun on the cobblestone and John called out for it but Sherlock told him to leave it. A few yards down the alley there was a somewhat tall black gate and with one glance at Sherlock, Lottie knew he was going to jump it. She knew she was way too short to attempt that feat so she spotted some nearby rubbish bins and clambered into them so she could clear the bars. John, on the other hand had been left to struggle by Sherlock. He called out to him, pulling him to a stop by his coat collar so he would listen to him, standing with their hands caught above them by the handcuffs.

"Sherlock, we're going to need to coordinate."

If it weren't for the situation they'd found themselves in, Lottie would think this was one of the funniest scenes she'd ever witnessed between the three of them. Once they finally got John over the gate they started running again until they hit a three way intersection and Lottie was leading, about to take a right but Sherlock grabbed her waist and pulled her into his chest, leaning against the wall before a passing police car spotted her. They all waited there, breathing heavy and watching for any sign of the police force and Lottie leaned into Sherlock's chest while they waited, completely exhausted. He held tight to her frame as he spoke through his own deep breaths.

"Everybody wants to believe it. That's what makes it so clever. A lie that's preferable to the truth. All my brilliant deductions were just a sham. No one feels inadequate. Sherlock Holmes is just an ordinary man."

"What about Mycroft?" John suggested, "He could help us."

"If he thinks I want a reconciliation? Now's not really the moment."

Sherlock pulled John and Lottie across the alley to the other wall, checking for spies and policemen before yanking them around in every which direction in a sporadic manner. In the process John spotted someone hiding at one end of the alley and he forced Sherlock to look, "Sherlock, we're being followed. I knew we couldn't outrun the police."

"It's not the police. It's one of our new neighbors from Baker Street. Let's see if he can give us some answers." Sherlock started for the main road and John was forced to follow with Lottie in tow, stopping just before they were out in the open for all of London to see.

"Where are we going?" Lottie said in a whisper. Sherlock looked out to the road where a double decker bus was just turning the corner a few blocks down.

"We're going to jump in front of that bus."

"What?" Lottie and John's voices carried out in unison and Sherlock turned to them.

"Lottie, you stay here."

He didn't even give her or John a chance to protest, pulling John out into the street. Lottie was calling out after them, terrified and confused but he didn't answer, obviously confident in his plan. The two of them stopped just in front of the bus and she screamed in fear but someone shoved her out of the way, crossing the road to tackle John and Sherlock to the ground, out of the way of the bus. The double decker shielded Lottie's view for only a moment but in that moment her heart seemed to stop, unsure if the two of them made it or not. When it passed she saw all three men on the ground with Sherlock pointed a gun at the man that had saved them and she let out a sigh of relief. She leaned on the wall next to her to try and catch her breath, calming her racing heartbeat. If one of these assassins didn't kill Sherlock then, by golly, she just might.

John, Sherlock, and the assassin stood, Sherlock keeping his aim on the assassin as they spoke. Lottie couldn't tell what they were saying but she hoped they were getting more information about what was actually going on. However, as soon as Sherlock lowered his weapon gunshots were fired and the assassin hit the concrete. John, Sherlock, and Lottie looked around for the killer but whoever it was, was hidden well and Lottie was not afraid to admit she was a little freaked.

"Sherlock!" she called across the street and he turned at her voice, holding out his hand and beckoning her to cross the road. She ran without looking, barely stopping to take his hand as they all took off together, police sirens surrounding them in every direction. They weren't far from the flat now, having made one huge circle around it and they ducked into the next alley, constantly checking to make sure they hadn't been seen.

"It's a game changer." Sherlock said, trying to catch his breath, "It's a key. It could break into any system and it's sitting in our flat right now. That's why he left that message telling everyone where to come. 'Get Sherlock.'"

"Wait, so what did the assassin say?" Lottie had definitely missed something, and that was something she couldn't afford to do now. Sherlock turned to her.

"A key code. A key code that can open any door, any safe. That's what they're after, and Moriarty's planted it somewhere in the flat. We need to get back there and search."

"CID will be camped out." John was keeping watch on the street, "Why plant it on you?"

"It's another subtle way of smearing my name, now I'm best pals with all those criminals."

Lottie was looking up and down the street when a newspaper stand caught her eye. It was the same newspaper that Mycroft had in his office and she picked it up, "Have you seen this?"

Sherlock and John read over her shoulder as she spoke, "A kiss and tell. Some bloke called Rich Brook. Who is he, Sherlock?"

When he didn't respond, John and Lottie looked up to see an expression of realization plastered on his face and he cursed under his breath, rubbing his face with his free hand.

"Come on, I know where to go."


	20. This Love's One of A Kind

Kitty Riley pulled up just outside her flat and put her car in park, gathering her keys and purse before stepping out onto the street, locking her car and making her way to the front door. It'd been a long day and she was exhausted, ready for a nice hot cup of tea and to put her feet up; however, when she got to the door she stopped, blinking in confusion. Her door was already open and sitting cracked just enough to see the darkness inside. She proceeded with caution, pushing open the door and hitting the lights to see none other than Sherlock Holmes and John Watson sitting on her loveseat, handcuffed together. Lottie Blakely was sat adjacent to them with her arms and legs crossed. None of them looked happy.

"Too late to go on the record?" Sherlock said, tapping his fingers on his knee and looking up at her. Lottie recognized her as the red head from the courthouse that was in the washroom with Sherlock and she glared at her. This lady, Sherlock had explained, was the lady who had written the article on him and Rich Brook. Apparently at the courthouse she "wanted to be on his side". One look at this girl and Lottie didn't believe it for a second. Lottie stood with the boys and Kitty provided John and Sherlock with a bobby pin so they could break free of their handcuffs and she took a seat in the chair Lottie was sitting in just a moment ago. She had a sly look that Lottie was already beginning to hate, sitting there like she owned them. Lottie fought the urge to slap her.

"Congratulations." Sherlock said, massaging his wrist once he was free from the cuff, "The truth about Sherlock Holmes. The scoop that everybody wanted and you've got it. Bravo."

"I gave you your opportunity. I wanted to be on your side, remember?" Kitty looked at Sherlock like a piece of meat and Lottie cleared her throat, raising her eyebrows when she looked at her and Kitty eyed her before turned back to Sherlock, "You turned me down."

"And then, lo and behold, someone turns up and spills the beans. How utterly convenient. Who is Brook?" Sherlock paced in front of her but she merely shook her head and he gritted his teeth, "Oh, come on, Kitty. No one trusts the voice at the end of a telephone. There were all those furtive little meetings in cafes, those sessions in the hotel room where he gabbled into your Dictaphone. How do you know that you can trust him, eh? A man turns up with the Holy Grail in his pocket. What were his credentials?"

The door opened and Lottie looked up to see who it was. As soon as she laid eyes on the newcomer she almost went into shock, stumbling back in fear. A disbelieving 'no' escaped her lips and Sherlock took one look at her and he knew exactly who had come through that door behind him before he even turned around.

"Darling, they didn't have any ground coffee, so I just got normal…" James Moriarty stopped in his tracks, looking right into the eyes of Sherlock, a simulation of fear growing in his pupils as he dropped the groceries he was carrying, tripping over the stairs as he backed away like a scared puppy. He looked over at Kitty, "You said that they wouldn't find me here. You said that I'd be safe here."

Kitty stood, "You are safe, Richard. I 'm a witness. He wouldn't harm you in front of witnesses."

John fidgeted where he stood, plainly having a hard time digesting this new information, "So, this is your source? Moriarty is Richard Brook?"

"Of course he's Richard Brook, there is no Moriarty, there never has been."

"What are you talking about?"

"Look him up. Rich Brook, an actor Sherlock Holmes hired to be Moriarty."

Lottie felt dizzy, stepping back into the couch and letting herself fall onto the cushions. She could not believe this was happening. Some of the pieces were beginning to fall into place. Moriarty had done the unthinkable, the impossible. He had created a whole new identity to ruin Sherlock's reputation. John looked as if he was going to murder Moriarty right there on the spot and Jim held up his hands in defense.

"Doctor Watson, I…I know you're a good man." He stuttered, "Don't…Don't hurt me."

"No, you're Moriarty!" John exclaimed, letting all of his anger channel through his raised voice, "He's Moriarty! You were going to blow Lottie to smithereens!"

He covered his face, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. He paid me. I needed the work. I'm an actor, I was out of work!"

"Sherlock, you'd better explain, 'cause I am not getting this."

"I'll be doing the explaining." Kitty said, picking up a folded up file, "In print. It's all here. Conclusive proof."

John took the papers from her hand and she approached Sherlock. He had been simply watching Moriarty, taking in this new information with a Sherlock calmness, or at least that's how he seemed. Kitty smirked at him and he peered down at her with expressionless eyes as she spoke, "You invented James Moriarty, your nemesis."

"Invented him?" John was trying to pick up the pieces, trying to sort out all these bits of information that were and were not making sense all at the same time. This was beyond anyone's explanation at that point but he still wanted one.

"Mm-hmm. Invented all the crimes, actually. And to cap it all, you made up a master villain."

"Oh, don't' be ridiculous."

"Ask him, he's right here! Just ask him! Tell him, Richard."

"No, for God sake's, this man was on trial!"

"Yes, and he paid him. Paid him to take the rap. Promised he'd rig the jury. Not exactly a West End role, but I'll be the money was good. But not so good he didn't' want to sell his story." She walked over to put her arms around a terrified looing Moriarty and he swallowed, his eyes falling on every person in the room. Lottie had been sitting there, silent and absolutely dumbfounded. She was in shock and all she could do was stare, stare at the man that almost had her murdered, at the man that had murdered innocent people just to get back at Sherlock. But why? Why was he doing this? She just wanted to understand why, what on earth would possess a man to do these things. Jim was shaking with "fear" and all Lottie could do was sit there in a state of shock

"I am sorry, Miss Charlotte." He said, turning and taking a step towards her, "I am, I am sorry."

When Lottie heard her name come out of Moriarty's mouth she seemed to come back to the situation and she jumped to her feet, backing away and holding out her arms much like him, "You stay away from me!"

Sherlock stepped in front of her, witnessing Moriarty's groveling with a watchful eye. Kitty watched them with the biggest smile on her face and Lottie looked at her as if she was insane. Was she enjoying this? John took a deep breath through his nose, holding up the papers Kitty had given him, "So, this is the story that you're going to publish? The big conclusion of it all, Moriarty is an actor?

"He knows I am, I have proof." Moriarty started to panic, "I have proof, show him. Con you show them something?"

"Yeah, show me something." The tone in John's voice told Lottie that he thought the whole thing was bullshit. While Kitty pulled out some papers to show John, Moriarty covered his eyes with "anxiety", but he peeked out through his fingers, looking right at Sherlock with a victorious smile and those psychopathic eyes of his. The corners of Sherlock's mouth twitched but Lottie's eyes burned with hatred. Her fist clenched and Moriarty reverted right back as soon as Kitty turned back around to show John another file.

"I'm on TV, I'm on kids' TV. I'm the storyteller. It's on DVD." He was trying so hard to convince them that this little charade was real and the more he spoke the angrier Sherlock was. He gritted his teeth and when Lottie took a step at him he held out his arm to stop her.

"You lying son of a bitch." Her voice was low and Moriarty back away, repeating his plea to "just tell them" over and over and over, making Sherlock's anger boil. He may have held Lottie back but he had had enough, taking a step toward him and Moriarty stepped back onto the stairs.

"No! Don't you touch me. Don't' you lay a finger on me."

In that moment, something snapped in Sherlock. Moriarty had crossed the line and Sherlock was done with his games, "Stop it, stop it now!"

Moriarty took off up the stairs and Sherlock went after him, Lottie and John on his heels but by the time they caught up to him he slammed the bathroom door in their faces. Sherlock swung it open again but Moriarty had escaped through the window. The three of them started back down the stairs only to be greeted with a triumphant looking Kitty who stepped right up to Sherlock without hesitation, a sense of intimacy radiating off of her.

"Do you know what, Sherlock Holmes? I look at you now and I can read you. And you repel me."

A fire was lit in the pit of Lottie's heart and she shoved herself in between them, forcing Kitty back, away from Sherlock. These people were pushing her past her limits and she was letting her emotions pour out of her like an overly full kettle, her words slipping through her gritted teeth, "I will make sure you never write another word anywhere, ever, if I ever see you that close to him again, do I make myself clear?"

Sherlock took her hand and dragged her out into the street, John following close behind as they let their feet take them a few yards from Kitty's flat before they stopped. Sherlock could feel his heart thumping from the revelation of Moriarty's plan, their being on the run from the police, and now Lottie's protectiveness. He felt a sense of pride and comfort that appeared to hold a much bigger space in his heart than anything he'd ever felt before and he held tight to Lottie's hand, something that seemed to keep him in control, keep him grounded.

"Can he do that?" John said once they stopped walking, "Completely change his identity? Make you the criminal?"

"He's got my whole life story." Sherlock said, "That's what you do, you sell a big lie. You wrap it up in a truth to make it palatable."

He began to pace and Lottie let go of his hand, rubbing her face, "It's your word against his."

"He's been sowing doubt into people's minds for the last 24 hours. There's only one thing he needs to do to complete his game and that's to…"

He stopped. He stopped pacing, stopped talking, and, for a moment, Lottie was sure he stopped breathing. She could almost hear his computerized brain shut down and for him, it practically did. In his mind he knew what he had to do and what it was going to cost him and in that moment his heart dropped into his stomach. Everything, all of his confusion and insecurities about his feelings, were gone and all he saw was her.

"Sherlock?" her voice made him turn to face her and she knew something was wrong the moment he locked eyes with her. She always did. Now he was wishing he had more time. More time with her, more time to explain, more time to tell her, now that he understood. But he knew his time was up and in realizing that he was experiencing some of the worst pain that he'd ever felt. This is what it felt like, this was what he tried so hard to understand and it was there all the long, the thing that everyone else already knew about him, the one thing he couldn't deduce about his own self. He knew he was running out of time, but he could spare one more moment for this one action, this one last conquest. In two strides of his long legs he closed the space between himself and Lottie, holding her face in his hands and without hesitation, he kissed her, letting anything and everything he ever wanted to say empty into the movement of his lips against hers. After a beat, she grabbed the lapel of his coat and kissed him back, her compassion and love that she'd always felt for him pouring out of every inch of her and when they parted, she lingered with her eyes closed, holding onto the sparkling sensation that surged through her whole body until it faded into a calming sense of sanctuary. Sherlock's hot breath told her that he was still only inches from her before she opened her eyes, and when she did, his own eyes were locked on hers.

"Charlotte, I will always stay with you, but there's something I need to do." He whispered.

"I can't go with you this time, can I?"

He didn't respond, but his features told her everything she needed to know. She had seen him vulnerable before, but this, this was something way off the grid. He took her hands off of his coat and held them in his own; he was shaking.

"Oh, my god." John stood flabbergasted at the two of them. Never in his lifetime did he ever think it would actually happen, but it did. Right before his very eyes, and just like that, Sherlock was gone, without so much as a glance behind him. Lottie watched him go and John, in turn, watched her. He could see the silent tears that stained her cheeks and he faced her fully.

"Are you okay?" he said, gently. She sucked in a deep breath and whipped her tears away with the heel of her hand.

"I'm fine."

He paused, examining their surroundings with the papers Kitty had given him still in his hand, "What now?"

Lottie stood there until she could no longer see Sherlock's retreating figure, her face hardening with every second, determination bubbling in the pit of her stomach. She turned to John with narrowed eyes, "Come on. I have a bone to pick with the British Government."


	21. You're the Only One That Knows That I Lied

Mycroft swung his umbrella at his side, striding into his office after an extremely long and tiring meeting and letting out a sigh. Dealing with the idiots all day really wore him out and all he wanted to do was have his tea and finish up his work so he could go home. He turned to close the door behind him, but he took a double take into the office when he spotted two figures sitting in his chairs a few feet away. He let out a knowing breath and clicked the door shut.

"She has really done her homework, Miss Riley." Lottie said, sorting through the papers that Kitty had given to John, "I mean, these are things that only someone close to Sherlock would know."

"Ah." Mycroft took a seat across from her and was taken aback by her expression, hard and determined.

"Have you seen your brother's address book lately?" John said, seated in the chair next to Lottie, "There are three names, yours, mine, and Lottie's. And Moriarty didn't get this stuff from us."

"John, Charlotte…" he tried to speak, tried to explain, but John interrupted him.

"So, how does it work, then? Your relationship? You go out for a coffee now and then, eh? You and Jim?"

Lottie scoffed, "Your own brother and you blabbed about his entire life to this, this psychopath?"

"I never intended…I never dreamt…"

"No, you see, this," she shuffled through the papers again, holding up with a stern hand, "This is what you were trying to tell me, wasn't it? Look out for him, 'cause I've made a mistake."

Mycroft didn't respond, merely staring her down from where he sat. She returned his gaze with an intense fire that he was just now noticing. He wasn't getting off the hook very easily; he had messed with some very important people in her life, people that should've also been very important to him and she'd had enough with his cockiness.

"How did you meet him?" John asked, breaking the silence. Lottie sat back, crossing her legs and arms, waiting to hear this story. Mycroft took a deep breath, knowing he'd been cornered and there was no way out of it now.

"People like him, we…know about him, we watch them. But James Moriarty, the most dangerous criminal mind the world has ever seen, and in his pockets the ultimate weapon, a key code. A few lines of computer code that can unlock any door."

"And you abducted him? To try and find the key code."

"Interrogated him for weeks. He wouldn't play along. He just sat there, staring into the darkness. The only thing that made him open up…I could get him to talk. Just a little. But…"

"In return, you had to offer him Sherlock's life story."

"Let me get this straight," Lottie sat up, "So there's one big lie, Sherlock's a fraud. But people will swallow it because the rest of it is true." She held up her finger to indicate that she wasn't finished, closing her eyes with a thin, angry smile before leaning over to rest her elbows on her knees, speaking in a low tone, "Moriarty wanted Sherlock destroyed, right? And you have given him the perfect ammunition."

Her lips thinned so that her dimples showed, and even John was a little frightened by this side of her. He'd never seen her this angry, but she was right, and it looked as if Mycroft was beginning to understand that. Whoever he thought she was before, that girl was gone now. She had been involuntarily slung into this war and she was going to fight for the people she loved. She let her words sink in before getting to her feet and starting towards the door. John was about to follow but Mycroft's soft voice stopped them.

"Charlotte." He paused and they waited impatiently for him to speak. Lottie wasn't even looking fully at him, glancing at him over her shoulder as his tone changed and she furrowed her eyebrows at his words, "I'm sorry."

"You're what?" she turned around lowly, her voice barely above a whisper. He had to be joking.

"Oh, please." John stood with a disbelieving smile, not even giving Mycroft the time of day and Lottie scoffed, looking him right in the eyes and shaking her head.

"You are the sorriest excuse for a brother that I have ever seen."

"Tell him, would you?"

"That you're sorry? No, you can tell him yourself. I'm done being your messenger." She turned and slung the door open, stalking down the hall with John at her side; and when they got outside they both received a message from Sherlock to meet him in Molly's lab. They looked at each other and hurried to hail a taxi, asking the driver to go as fast as possible. John looked over at Lottie, doing his best to keep up with her - it was a lot harder than it looked, but one look at her and it wasn't hard to tell that even she couldn't keep up with her own determination, her emotion just now catching up with her. Her grey eyes were dark, rimming with tears but she didn't let them show. He debated on asking, but he knew now was not the time and when they got to the hospital they jumped out of the cab and ran inside.

"We got your message." John said, bursting through the doors to the lab with Lottie at his side. Sherlock was sat on the floor, bouncing a ball between himself and the cabinets across from him.

"The computer code is key to this." He said, "If we find it, we can use it, beat Moriarty at his own game."

"What do you mean use it?" Lottie said.

"He used it to create a false identity. So we can use it to break into the records and destroy Richard Brook."

"And bring back Jim Moriarty again." She smiled and Sherlock got to his feet, placing his hands on the counter he was just resting on.

"Somewhere in 221b, on the day of the verdict, he left it hidden."

John leaned his hands on the counter next to him, "What did he touch?"

"An apple, nothing else."

"Did he write anything down?" Lottie offered.

"No."

John tapped his fingers on the hard surface and walked away, thinking of any way that Moriarty would have left the key code hidden in the flat. Lottie was glancing around the room and when her eyes landed on Sherlock she noticed the sparkle in his eye that told her that he'd already had it figured out, but something was off. She furrowed her eyebrows as he slipped his phone from his pocket and sent a text, quietly so as not to attract their attention. If he'd had it figured out then why were they here? What wasn't he telling them? He replaced his phone to his jacket pocket, looking up and Lottie was quick to pretend not to notice his actions; surely he was doing this for a reason. She shook her head of the thoughts and leaned to fold her arms on top of the counter and rest her head. They were now in the early hours of the morning and the sun would be coming up in a few hours and it seemed like it had been so long since she'd slept; and of course, now that they'd slowed down she was starting to realize just how long it had been. She stood up straight with effort, fighting the urge that her body was so desperately craving, her head nodding and her knees threatening to buckle under the exhaustion. Sherlock watched her, thinning his lips in guilt, knowing that she was doing this for him and he took her hand to lead her to the cabinets where he was sitting when they first walked in, helping her to sit down. He took a seat next to her.

"Get some sleep." He told her. She looked over at John, who was already passed out at a nearby desk, his face buried in his arms and breathing even. She leaned her head on Sherlock's shoulder in defeat and was asleep in seconds.

* * *

"Oh, my god."

"Lottie woke to John's worried exclamations and she raised her head from Sherlock's lap, utterly confused but trying her hardest to seem alert and ready to go.

"Right. Yes, I'm coming." John was saying.

"What is it?" Sherlock asked and Lottie looked up at him. Had he even slept?

"Paramedics. Mrs. Hudson's been shot."

"What? How?" Lottie was suddenly very awake and jumping to her feet.

"Well, probably one of the killers Sherlock's managed to attract. Jesus. Jesus! She's dying, come on. Let's go."

"You two go, I'm busy." Sherlock started bouncing that ball back and forth on the cabinets again and John and Lottie looked at him as if he'd lost his mind.

"Busy?" John said.

"Thinking, I need to think."

"Doesn't' she mean anything to you? You once half killed a man because he laid a finger on her."

"He almost broke Lottie's whole rib cage." He defended, "Besides, she's just my landlady."

"She's dying. You," John was having a hard time getting his words out through his anger, "Machine. Sod this. You stay here if you want. On your own."

"Alone is what I have. Alone protects me."

"Nope, friends protect people."

John stormed out, leaving Lottie and Sherlock alone. She stood watching him, never having been more confused in her life and he looked up at her and she knew something wasn't right. He let her eyes see right through him, but whatever it was she could not figure it out and he was not going to tell her. So many emotions were surging through her: hurt and confused and angry, and so many other things, all at once; and just like always, her eyes portrayed every single one of them. The dull ache that had been settling in Sherlock's heart with every passing second but he didn't break the contact, even as she stepped back, holding the door open. She looked back, wanting so badly to trust him, but something just didn't' seem right. She took a deep breath and ran down the hallway to catch back up to John just as he hailed a cab

They were silent, watching the people go about their days in the early morning light until they reached the flat, hurrying out of the car and up the two steps into the flat, but they stopped in their tracts when they almost ran into a smiling Mrs. Hudson just inside the foyer with the man that had come to fix their ceiling. She had jumped when they came barging in, giggling at her silliness but John and Lottie stood staring in disbelief.

"Oh, God, you two made me jump." Mrs. Hudson said, "Is everything okay now with the police? Has, um, Sherlock sorted it all out?"

"No." Lottie whispered. She knew it, she knew something was wrong. She knew she should've stayed with him. She pulled her hand to her mouth and took a few stuttering steps backwards.

"Oh, my god." He and Lottie had been staring at Mrs. Hudson with a white hot fear, but before they could explain they were right back out the door, all but running for a taxi back to St. Bart's. Whatever Sherlock was up to, it was not good, and it was not going to end well, but they just had to reach him, they just had to. At least, that's what Lottie continued to tell herself the whole way back to the hospital. However when they got there, she had never wanted anything more than for her suspicions to be wrong from the moment she stepped out of that cab and John's phone began to ring.

It was Sherlock.


	22. Never Turn Into Another Like You

The door creaked behind Lottie and Sherlock had to watch her go without so much as an explanation. Never in his life did he think anything would be as hard as that and he sat there, staring after the door, imagining her gray eyes on him, wanting to know all the answers. Those eyes that cared so much for him, for everyone, those eyes that he could stare into all day. But as soon as the door clicked shut his phone sounded with a text alert. He hesitated before pulling it back out of his jacket pocket and swiping open the message.

'I'm waiting…

JM'

Sherlock took a deep breath and got to his feet, slowly and deliberately, before starting for the door that Lottie had just left through, grabbing his coat on the way out. He made his way to the roof in silence, sliding his arms into his coat and wrapping his scarf around his neck while he walked and when he got there the sound of music filled his ears as he closed the big metal door behind him. He distinguished he song to be 'Stayin' Alive', the same song that echoed in the pool the night that Lottie was almost murdered right in front of his eyes. He'd tried not to think about it, spotting Moriarty sitting on the edge of the roof with his phone in his hand, playing the song out loud while he wait for the famous sleuth. Sherlock approached him.

"Well." Moriarty started, letting the music play out, "Here we are at last. You and me Sherlock. And our problem, the final problem, _Stayin' alive_." He sang out the note and stopped the music, looking up at Sherlock, "It's so boring, isn't it? It's just…staying. All my life, I've been searching for distraction and you were the best distraction and now I don't even have you. Because I've beaten you. And you know what? In the end, it was easy. It was easy. Now I've got to go back to playing with the ordinary people. And it turns out you're ordinary, just like all of them. Oh, well."

He stood from the ledge, facing Sherlock, who'd been pacing in front of him without a word. He now stood still, gazing out over what of the London skyline he could see and Moriarty eyed him, "Did you almost start to wonder if I was real? Did I nearly get you?"

"Richard Brook." Sherlock finally said, letting the name fall off his tongue as if it gave him a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Nobody seems to get the joke." Moriarty was circling him now, "But you do."

"Of course. Rich Brook is German is Reichanbach. The case that made my name."

"Just trying to have some fun." The next circle he did around him he caught Sherlock tapping out a rhythm behind his back. He smirked, "Good, you got that, too."

"Beats like digits." He said, remembering the day of the verdict when Moriarty stopped by for a spot of tea and repeatedly tapped out this same rhythm. He'd barely thought of it then but now, this was everything, and he was secretly glad he hadn't deleted it, "Every beat is a one, every rest is a zero. Binary code. That's why all those assassins tried to save my life. It was hidden on me, hidden inside my head. A few simple lines of computer code that can break into any system."

"Told all my clients. Last one to Sherlock is a sissy."

"Yes, but now that it's up here," he tapped his head, "I can use ti to alter all the records. I can kill Rich Brook and bring back Him Moriarty."

Moriarty shook his head, his mouth slipping into a pout, "No, no, no, no, no, this is too easy. There is no key, doofus! Those digits are meaningless, utterly meaningless."

Sherlock wavered on his feet, trying his best to hold his composure. Could he have actually been wrong? Could this have been the one thing, the "something" that he always missed? He looked down at the concrete they stood on and Moriarty cocked an eyebrow at him, "You don't really think a couple of lines of computer code are going to crash the world around our ears? I'm disappoint in you. Ordinary Sherlock."

"But the rhythm…"

"Partita No. 1. Thank you, Johann Sebastian Bach."

"Then how did you-?"

"Now, how did I break in the bank, to the Tower, to the prison? Daylight robbery. All it takes is some willing participants. I knew you'd fall for it. That's your weakness. You always want everything to be clever. Now, shall we finish the game? One final act. Glad you chose a tall building. Nice way to do it."

Sherlock swallowed, trying to keep up with this disaster that was being rolled out before him, "Do it? Do…Do what?" But as soon as the words left his mouth he knew. He knew what Moriarty was expecting him to do and he turned to face this madman behind him, "Yes, of course. My suicide."

"Genius detective proved to be a fraud. I read it in the paper, so it must be true. I love newspapers. Fairy tales. And pretty grim ones, too."

Sherlock looked over the edge of the building, as did Moriarty, and he swallowed again, thinking of any possible way to stop this, "I can still prove that you created an entirely false identity."

"Oh, just kill yourself, it's a lot less effort."

Sherlock turned away, trying to think, he needed to think but Moriarty's constant nagging was annoying him. He was almost begging him to do it, to do it for him. He started to shake, he'd had enough and this was getting ridiculous. He grabbed hold of his coat collar and just about had him hanging over the edge of the building, shaking him for good measure, "You're insane."

"You're just getting that now?" he seemed to be having some issues breathing and Sherlock shook him again as he called out in protest, "Okay. Let me give you a little extra incentive. Your friends will die if you don't."

Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows, "John?"

"No just John, Everyone."

"Mrs. Hudson? Lestrade?"

"Everyone."

Sherlock closed his eyes and choked back his fear. He didn't want to think about what he knew he had to confirm and Moriarty laughed at him, "Four bullets, four gunman, four victims."

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut, "Lottie."

"That's right. Even your little girlfriend. There's no stopping them now." He giggled as Sherlock pulled him to his feet, adjusting his clothes, "Unless my people see you jump, Little Lottie is going to die."

"Don't. Call her that." He said through gritted teeth. Moriarty chuckled.

"I saw your little lip lock last night you know. How romantic. Too bad you'll have to leave here all alone; alone and heartbroken."

Sherlock's breathing was heavy, doing his best to not toss Moriarty over the ledge and into the street. If he did that, they really would all die. He turned away.

"You can have me arrested." Moriarty said, "You can torture me. You ca do anything you want with me. But nothing's going to prevent them from pulling that trigger. Your only three friends, and your only girlfriend for that matter, in the world will die. Unless…"

"Unless I kill myself, complete your story."

Moriarty nodded his head, giggling relentlessly, "You've got to admit, that's sexier."

"And I die in disgrace."

"Of course, that's the point of this." He spoke as if Sherlock was an idiot, "Look, you got an audience now. Off you pop."

People were starting to begin their days, heading off to work, to school, morning jogs and bike rides. Sherlock stepped onto the edge, staring down at the street below him. The drop was far, and it would kill him instantly. He started to shake and Moriarty spoke next to him.

"I told you how this ends. Your death is the only thing that's going to call of the killers. I'm certainly not going to do it."

"Would you give me one moment, please? One moment of privacy." Sherlock breathed, "Please?"

Moriarty paused, licking his lips in consideration against the wind that threatened to push Sherlock over the edge, "Of course."

He meandered away, leaving Sherlock shaking and admittedly afraid. He was trying to gather his composure, trying to think, but there just didn't seem to be anyway out of this one. But then it hit him, hit him like a bag of bricks and he smiled, letting a deep laughter rattle in his chest. Moriarty stopped, swinging back around angrily.

"What did I miss?" he called out. Sherlock glanced over his shoulder and kicked off the ledge, back onto the roof.

"You're not going to do it? So the killers can be called off, then, there's a recall code or a word or number." He started circling him in the same manner that he'd done to him only minutes ago, "I don't have to die… _If I've got you_."

Moriarty blinked at his singsong voice, "Oh! You think you can make me stop the order? You think you can make me do that?"

"Yes. So do you."

"Sherlock your big brother and all the king's couldn't make me do a thing I didn't want to."

"Yes, but I'm not my brother, remember?" he stepped up close and personal, looking him in the eyes, "I am you. Prepared to do anything. Prepared to burn. Prepared to do what ordinary people won't do. You want me to shake hands with you in Hell? I shall not disappoint you."

Moriarty shook his head, "Nah. You talk big. You're ordinary. You're ordinary, you're on the side of the angels."

"Oh, I may be on the side of the angels, but don't' think for one second that I am one of them."

He examined Sherlock for a moment, letting a mischievous smile grow on his face, "No. You're not. I see. You're not ordinary. No. You're me. Thank you, Sherlock Holmes. Bless you."

He held out his hand for him to shake and Sherlock looked down at it, taking it reluctantly as he pulled him closer, "As long as I'm alive, you can save your friends. You've got a way out. Well, good luck with that."

He pulled a gun from his coat pocket and Sherlock's eyes went wide as he stuck it in his own mouth. Sherlock gasped and pulled away as Moriarty hit the concrete, blood pooling around his head and Sherlock started to panic. His breathing became erratic and he looked around frantically, racking his brain trying to figure out what to do. He was practically pulling his hair out, he could let them hurt her, he couldn't let that happen, but just like that, he knew. He knew what he had to do to keep his friends alive. He took a deep breath and with one last glance at the dead Moriarty, he stepped onto the edge of the roof of St. Bartholomew's Hospital, taking in his last view of London, just in time for John and Lottie's cab to come into view below him

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I know this chapter was for the most part (like 99%) word for word, but I felt it was really important to include. I truly debated including this bit, but I felt it was needed, for plotline purposes.  
> i don't own anything, save for the small bit about Lottie in the middle there.


	23. Fall

The cab stopped just outside the hospital and John and Lottie stepped out of the car, heading across the street to find Sherlock before whatever it was that he was planning got him into trouble. They were almost to the door when John's phone sounded and he answered it with a quick hello, continuing towards the door without stopping. Lottie was fighting the urge to run, listening intently to try and hear who John was talking to but she couldn't hear whoever was on the other end, forcing her to listen to a one-sided conversation.

"Hey, Sherlock, you okay?" John said, "No, I'm coming in."

He stopped, grabbing Lottie's arm to stop her as well, "Where?"

He turned back around and Lottie furrowed her eyebrows in confusion before following him back the way they came. What on earth was he doing? They had to get to Sherlock before something happened to him. He stopped where they'd gotten out of the cab just moments ago and Lottie let her hands rest on his arm, about to pull him back towards the hospital."

"John, what's going on?" she said, "We have to go!"

He shook his head, "Sherlock?"

Lottie watched his face, her uneasy feeling growing worse as he looked up towards the sky, muttering a curse under his breath. She swallowed, afraid of what she was going to find when she followed his gaze. She closed her eyes and slowly turned her head, covering her mouth when she saw Sherlock standing on the rooftop.

"What's going on?" John said into his phone. Lottie stared up at Sherlock, wanting so bad to know what he was saying to John. She gripped his jacket, watching Sherlock; even from where she stood she could just make out his features. He looked pained, and afraid, something she'd never seen on him before and it was frightening. On the other end of John's phone, Sherlock was speaking low and unnervingly calm.

' _An apology. It's all true.'_ He was saying.

"What?" John said. He was scaring him, this was so unlike him it wasn't even funny.

' _Everything they say about me. I invented Moriarty.'_

Lottie watched Sherlock look back at something, or someone for that matter, on the roof and John got quiet for a moment, shifting his weight before he spoke, "Why are you saying this?"

' _I'm a fake.'_ He sounded on the verge of tears and if he was honest, he really was. John whispered his name into the phone's speaker and Sherlock thinned his lips in an almost pitying way, _'The newspapers were right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade. I want you to tell Mrs. Hudson. And Molly. In fact, tell anyone who will listen to you that I created Moriarty for my own purposes.'_

"Okay, shut up, Sherlock, shut up. The first time we met, you knew all about my sister, right?"

Sherlock chuckled, _'Nobody could be that clever.'_

"You could."

Sherlock's face broke out in a smile, Lottie could see that much. Tears poured out of her eyes in fear, wanting to hear his voice so badly. She hadn't taken her eyes off of him for a second, afraid that if she did he would be gone, and John's words weren't making this any easier. What on earth was Sherlock saying to make John so upset?

' _I researched you.'_ Sherlock explained, _'Before we met, I discovered everything that I could to impress you. Lottie, too. It's a trick. Just a magic trick.'_

"No, all right, stop it now."

Lottie couldn't take it anymore. These two were really scaring her and she just wanted Sherlock down from that roof. She stared for the building and John called out to her, grabbing her shirt and pulling her back. She fought against him and he held her around her waist.

Sherlock whipped his face with his hand, _'Tell Lottie to stay there with you.'_

"No, then tell me what's going on!" she exclaimed once John explained what Sherlock wanted. She was gripping John's arm that was holding her back and she looked up to the roof of the hospital, "Sherlock!"

Sherlock's whole body shook, watching Lottie trying to reach him, to save him and he felt his heart shattering at her plea to him. John could hear his heavy breathing through the phone, unbelieving what was happening.

' _Tell her to keep her eyes fixed on me, both of you.'_

"Lottie, come on, just keep your eyes on Sherlock." He was trying to sooth her, doing his best to reassure her, for the both of them. She was no longer fighting him, but he kept his arm around her and she was sure it wasn't just for her. She could feel him shaking and he was gripping her hip like she was a lifeline, and she his arm just the same. Over the phone, Sherlock took a deep breath; he had to go through with this, for them.

' _Please will you do this for me?'_

"Do what?" John said.

' _This phone call, it's, um…It's my note. It's what people do, don't they? Leave a note?'_

"Leave a note when?"

Lottie's heart stopped at John's question. She knew exactly what Sherlock was doing and she whipped her head up to the roof, letting her heart-shattering voice carry all the way up to Sherlock, calling out to him with all that she was capable of. Sherlock sucked in a deep breath, feeling numb from so much pain radiating from his heart. He took a deep breath. He needed her to know one thing, one last favor to John to relay to her and he'd have to say goodbye.

' _Please, one more thing. Just, tell Lottie that…I love her.'_

"Why don't you tell her yourself? Sherlock don't do this!"

' _Take care of her for me.'_

"No, don't."

' _Goodbye, John.'_

Sherlock hesitated, but he tossed his phone aside. He wouldn't be needing it anymore. John did the same, holding onto a fighting Lottie as well as his own willpower to stay put, "Sherlock!"

And just like that, Sherlock Holmes stepped off the roof. Lottie's whole body went rigid as she watched him fall in wide-eyed horror, like it was a slow motion movie. She usually closed her eyes during those film scenes but she couldn't tear her eyes away from this, and when he hit the concrete, her whole world stopped. Everything went silent, save for the ungodly fast beat of her heart and a ringing in her ears. She felt herself screaming so loud her throat hurt, screaming out for Sherlock, but she couldn't hear it. John's arms dropped to his side in shock, letting her free. Not even realizing that she'd been on her knees she stumbled to her feet, trying so hard to work through her slow motion vision but as soon as she was standing she was knocked over again by a passing biker just as she caught glimpse of Sherlock lying unmoving ahead of her. She hit her head on the cobblestone, making her see double but John helped her to her feet. She couldn't see him but she knew he was in a daze by the way he was incoherently mumbling Sherlock's name over and over.

People were starting to crowd around him and she protested, yelling at them to get away from him and when they finally reached him they had to force their way through all of them. The crowd continued to push them away but they shoved through, falling to their knees next to him. John immediately checked his pulse as soon as he was close enough but one look at his face told Lottie that her worst fears had been met. She called out for him, vaguely hearing her own voice through the ringing in her ears, repeating his name through her sobs and grabbing hold of his hand. There was no response and it was already starting to grow cold. She sobbed as the paramedics came, turning him on his back so she and John could see the extent of the damage and the sight of his face, pale white and covered in blood forced her back. John fell back into the arms of the nearest stranger and all Lottie could do was stare, slipping into shock. The paramedics picked up his body and placed it on the stretcher and as they rolled him away, he slipped from Lottie's fingers. Her hand fell to her side and she vaguely felt someone trying to lift her up but she did nothing to help them. Her heart had slowed its pace, slow and pounding, reverberating in her head and then something clicked in her brain. The loud sounds and commotion of the crowd wacked her hard in the ears, realizing it wasn't John who was holding her she began to panic, screaming his name. Somehow his hand found hers and she looked at him; he was in such a daze he could hardly hold his own head up. She could feel a severe post-shock anxiety attack coming on and the paramedics were forced to leave the two of them be, seeing as they wouldn't let anyone near them, bound together by their own grip to each other. John coaching Lottie through her anxiety and she helping him through his shock. They needed each other; now, they were each other's only life support they had left.


	24. Epilogue

For weeks after the funeral, John and Lottie sat in a constant state of shock, depression, and just a general daze. John sat in his chair and Lottie would sit in Sherlock's; just sitting for hours, days. Mrs. Hudson was constantly watching them, making sure that they took care of themselves and eventually it turning into her taking care of them: making sure they ate and showered and such. She finally convinced them to go visit his grave for the first time since the funeral the day that Lottie's parents were coming to pick her up. Sherlock had been the one paying her rent and now with him gone there was no way she would be able to afford it. Plus, she couldn't stand staying there any longer. It hurt so much it was starting to become unbearable.

It took all that they had in them for John and Lottie to get up and get ready to go to the cemetery and when they finally did they stepped outside and hailed a cab. Lottie sat in between John and Mrs. Hudson, dressed in a basic black, flowy dress, fiddling with her locket, the only thing she had to hold onto him. It was quiet in the car and when they reached their destination they made their way to his headstone in a dreadful silence until Mrs. Hudson started going on about not knowing what to do with Sherlock's things, escorted on John's arm. She looked up at him, asking him for help but he shook his head.

"I can't go back to the flat again. Not at the moment." He said. Lottie was standing just beside him, twiddling a single flower in her fingers, not really listening to their words but scanning over the headstone before them, memorizing every mark and curve. Until now she had been numb, completely numb, to the world and occurrences going on around her. For the first time in her life, she wasn't anxious, or worried, or scared; but she also wasn't happy or peppy or felt like laughing, all traits that usually came to mind when one thought of Charlotte Blakely. She felt nothing, her mind blank and her heart unfeeling and she wondered what it was like before him, before her life on Baker Street. She hadn't realized how much her life had changed since John had helped her move in to 221c and now she didn't think she wanted to live life any other way.

"I'm angry." John said, bringing her out of her thoughts.

"It's okay, John." Mrs. Hudson patted his arm, "There's nothing unusual in that. That's the way he made everyone feel."

A scoff escaped Lottie's lips, quiet and subtle as Mrs. Hudson began listing off all the nitpicky things Sherlock did just to aggravate her. She went on and on until she couldn't take it anymore and had to take a step away to collect herself, leaving John and Lottie alone. Lottie stepped up to the grave, placing her flower, a forget-me-not, with a small tag tied to it on top of the stone. She turned it over in her fingers, letting the words escape her lips in a painful whisper.

"'Stay with me.'"

After all this time feeling numb and dark, she finally felt a spark of something, a sense of longing. She wanted him back, she wanted him here. That was all her heart was capable, this one emotion. It was selfish and strong but she didn't care. Her world was dark and in that moment the only way to bring in the light was bringing him back, but she knew that was impossible. Silent tears fell from her eyes and she bit her lip.

"Do you know what he told me to tell you?" John said. He hadn't forgotten what Sherlock had said over the phone in his last minutes. He hadn't had the strength to tell her yet, but he knew he had to. Lottie shook her head.

"Do you want to know?" he asked. She need to be ready for this. He knew exactly what she was going through and he understood this sort of information might set her off. She and he both were unstable, but she needed to know and when she nodded her head, keeping her eye on the flower, he took a deep breath.

"He said that he loved you, Lottie."

She turned to him and slung her arms around his neck and he wrapped his arms around her middle, hugging her back; both of them holding each other tight, shaking. They parted, facing Sherlock's headstone, searching frantically for each other's hands until their fingers were interlocked. John spoke, stuttering through his words.

"He said once that he wasn't a hero, um, there were times I didn't even think he was human, but let me say this…"

He paused and he seemed to switch gears. He wasn't talking to Lottie anymore, he was talking to Sherlock directly. Lottie let him go, holding his hand for support while he let his guard down around the only two people he trusted in this world.

"You were the best man and the most human human being that I've ever known and no one will ever convince me that you told me a lie, okay? So, there."

He sighed and Lottie squeezed his hand as he reached out to touch the headstone, "I was…I was so alone. And I owe you so much."

After a beat of silence he started to walk away and Lottie waited a moment, glancing over the grave one more time before turning to follow but he had stopped, coming back towards the stone, "Oh, please, there's just one more thing, right? One more thing. One more miracle, Sherlock, for me. For me, and for Lottie. Don't be…dead. Would you, just for me, just stop it? Stop this."

His voice broke and that was it. He bowed his head and Lottie came to wrap her arms around his waist, letting him cry on her shoulder. He leaned into her, using her to support himself but after a moment he stood up straighter and Lottie watched his face change, and his air about him. Almost as if he was saluting Sherlock, and he stalked off. Lottie watched him go, looked back at the headstone, letting the last of her tears fall and taking a deep breath.

"You said you would stay with me, always. Please don't do this."

She followed after John, taking their time to join Mrs. Hudson at the cab, unknowing that from among the trees, someone was watching, listening to every word they said, and listening to his own heart shatter into a million pieces.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> I've had this story posted on FF for several years, and there were a lot of people who seemed to get a kick out of it. I'm SUPER new to AO3, so tips and such about the website are welcome!
> 
> Thank! Hope you all enjoy!


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